


The Summer Moon is Shining

by Qzil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Relationships, Blood and Torture, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Castiel, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fairy Tale Logic, Princess Meg - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-02-23 06:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2536850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qzil/pseuds/Qzil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a young man cursed with the form of a dragon, except for the three nights of the month when the moon is full. When the light touches his wings, he transforms back into a human man. While out hunting, he accidentally kidnaps Meg--saving her from being executed in the process. Over the course of the month, the two of them bond while Meg recovers from her wounds, intending to find a way back home to kill the man who killed her family and almost killed her. As time passes, Castiel discovers that he does not want Meg to leave him, the two must find a way to break his curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big big big thank yous to both Natz and Blakehusband (fallendawn and cerulean-city) for looking over this fic for any mistakes. A huge thank you to my wonderful artist, ryokoleigh, for the amazing artwork she did for this story. Also, a big thank you to msdoomandgloom, who tolerated the silly headcanon messages that eventually turned into a fic.

[Art link](http://ryokoleigh.tumblr.com/post/101344792846/the-summer-moon-is-shining-by-maidenpool-art-by)

* * *

 

She was praying when she heard the crowd cheering.

Shivering, Meg uncurled from her spot on the floor and, out of habit, smoothed the skirt of her soiled gown. Stepping over the dirty pile of straw that served as a bed, she strode to the window of her tower cell and peered down at the courtyard below, keeping her head held high and her steps measured even though there was no one there to watch her.

She had to stand on her tiptoes to see out the small window, perfectly placed to give the prisoners a view of the execution grounds below, but too tiny for even someone as small as her to wiggle through and throw themselves to the ground below to save themselves from a painful, public death. She’d stood at the window half a hundred times with her older brother when they were children to watch traitors and war prisoners be executed before their father had finally deemed them old enough to attend.

Now she would be using it to watch her father and brother die.

She knew that they were being brought out when the crowd went silent and turned to face the tower. Meg was so high up that she couldn’t make out any of their faces, but she knew the route well enough. She knew that the prisoners would be led out of the bottom level and through the crowd before being dragged onto the middle of the courtyard and killed in whatever way the new king had decided he wanted them to die. Judging by the stakes erected on the stones and the large barrels being wheeled toward them from the other side of the castle, she guessed that it would not be a quick, easy death.

Her father had always preferred beheading. He had told her once that it was fast, fair, and as kind as a prisoner deserved. Clearly, their new king didn’t think that the old regime deserved any kindness. If he had, he would’ve called the headsman, or at least let the three of them die together as a family.

Instead, he was going to kill her family without her. He was going to make her take that final step into the next life alone.

Meg shook her head and focused on the crowd below again. Although she couldn’t see the bottom of the tower, she knew when her father and brother were dragged out by the way the crowd roared. She noticed that a few people were silent in protest of what was happening, and she could tell that most of the cheering was half-hearted at best, that most of the people were only pretending to be excited in order to save their own skins, or win favor with the new king.

Disgusted, she turned her head and spat onto the grimy floor of her cell. Cowards, every last one of them.

She watched the guards lead Azazel and Tom through the crowd, both of them stumbling with their arms tied behind their back. Meg said a quick prayer of thanks when her father swayed on his feet. It looked as if some kind supporter had slipped them some sort of drug for the execution, probably a potion designed to dull the pain. She hoped they were too far gone to know what was happening to them.

Drums sounded from somewhere she could not see, but Meg did not bother to turn her head to look for them. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on her father as he swayed in place. For a moment he turned his head in her direction and looked up at her window, and Meg knew that he knew she was watching.

Her heart began to pound in time with the drums and her mouth went dry. Cautiously, she dug her fingers into the cracks between the stones and hauled herself up, digging her bare feet into the wall to get a better view. One foot slipped, and she winced at the feeling of her toes scraping against the stone. But from her new angle Meg could see the rest of the courtyard.

She could see the king.

Tearing her gaze away from her father and brother, Meg instead focused on Fergus Crowley, the nobleman that had gathered enough followers to attack her father and take his throne. The crowd cheered when he stood.

She couldn’t hear what he was shouting, but she recognized that it was time for the execution to start. She watched without blinking as the barrels were opened and two men led Azazel and Tom to them. One of the men lifted her father as if he was no lighter than a child and dunked him into the barrel. When he pulled Azazel out, the former king sputtering weakly, Meg finally understood how the rest of her family was to die.

The pitch dripped sluggishly from her father’s body, soiling the hay at the bottom of the stake as he was tied to it. Tom followed, weakly shaking his head to try to move the tar from his eyes, the dark color of the pitch making his hair blacker than it already was and running sluggishly down his pale flesh. Meg swallowed, her empty stomach heaving at the sight. More men moved forward, torches in their hands. Still, she refused to look away, remembering the last words her father had spoken when he’d been taken from their tower.

“Watch me,” he’d ordered her, his voice calm and even despite the fact that he knew he was going to his death. Even his strange, yellow eyes had been calm, and his wrinkled face had not betrayed an ounce of fear. “Watch both of us. We will all be together again soon.”

He’d kissed her forehead, then, and Tom had squeezed her hand, and then they’d been torn away from her.

But she couldn’t deny her father’s last wish. So she did what she was told and watched them.

She watched Crowley give the order, watched the men lower their torches to the hay, watched as it caught fire. She watched as the flames danced higher and higher, creeping up her father and brother’s legs, the pitch helping it along.

Tom screamed first, the harsh sound thundering through the courtyard when the fire reached his middle. Azazel only let out one short, sharp scream when he heard his son, but it was clear that whatever drugs he had been given dulled the pain far better than her brother’s. No matter how much of him the flames devoured, he did not make a sound.

Pride swelled in Meg’s chest.

Her nose twitched as the smell of burning flesh reached her, and Meg watched her father and brother die.

She stayed at the window until the full moon rose in the sky, illuminating the now-empty courtyard. Crowley had ordered his men to put out the flames as soon as Tom stopped screaming, leaving her father and brother dying from their wounds. Even hours later, their bodies remained chained to the stakes, a reminder of Crowley’s victory over her household. The courtyard was still.

Shivering slightly, Meg pried her numb fingers from the window ledge and slowly lowered herself back onto the stone. She scraped her foot against the floor, attempting to wipe away the dried blood crusted on her toes. Still shivering, she rubbed her arms for warmth, trotted over to the dirty pile of straw that served as her bed, and curled up on top of it, tucking the flimsy skirt of her gown around her legs for warmth.

She cursed her father for making her wear the stupid thing, cursed Crowley for ruining her life when he had attacked her birthday celebration. It was supposed to be a happy night, the court celebrating that their princess had at last come of age, but it was also supposed to be her last night of freedom before she was faced with a parade of suitors and adult responsibilities.

Azazel had insisted that she dress up for the event and brought her a gauzy pink gown with flimsy sleeves and a skirt that flared out around her waist, making her hips look bigger than they were. When Meg had stepped into the hall, her dark hair elaborately piled on her head and draped in her mother’s jewelry, her father had kissed her forehead and told her how beautiful she was, and how much like her mother she looked. He had only been flattering her, as the only thing she had inherited from her mother was the woman’s smooth, pale skin, but it had still made her heart swell with happiness to hear the words.

Meg squeezed her eyes close to prevent herself from crying. Crowley could send for her at any moment, she knew, and she would not let him see her weep.

Wiping her eyes, she settled down to sleep.

.

They came for her in the morning.

Hearing the cell door scrape open, Meg sat up on the dirty pile of straw and waited for the guards to come to her. They were both tall, one thin while the other was stocky, and their uniforms were perfectly clean. One of them had a beard and the other was clean-shaven, and he looked almost apologetic as they stepped into the room. “It’s time.”

Meg nodded and stood up, seeing no reason to fight. She was going to die anyway, and her father would’ve wanted her to walk to her death with her head held high. The bearded one rolled his eyes and roughly pulled her arms behind her back. Meg glared and allowed him to guide her out of her cell, throwing her greasy hair out of her eyes.

The drums pounded like they had the day before, but there were less people in the courtyard. She ignored them all, keeping her eyes fixed on the small, raised platform where Crowley sat. He smiled down at her, his dark eyes narrowed into slits. She started to sweat as the sun rose higher in the sky, the summer heat beating down on her.

The bearded man jerked her to a halt in front of the raised platform. Meg waited for the pitch barrel to be rolled out so she could be strung up next to her family, but the new king only smirked and waved his hand.

The small crowd of guards parted, exposing a large, polished metal box.

Her heart sank into her stomach. She would have no quick death, like her father and brother had. She knew only too well what hot metal did to the skin.

She knew that it was not enough to kill her.

Crowley smirked and waved at the bearded guard. “Strip her.”

The bearded one roughly shoved her at the clean shaven man when he hesitated. Feet tangling on the hem of her soiled skirt, Meg fell into his arms and found herself turned around, her arms once again locked behind her back. The bearded guard knelt at her feet and roughly gripped the hem of her gown.

She kicked him, laughing when he screamed and fell onto his back. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth. He growled at her and spat and she laughed again when she saw one white tooth hit the cobbles.

The crowd in front of her gasped and backed away as the man leapt to his feet and pulled his fist back, ready to punch her.

Crowley’s heavily accented voice thundered through the court once more. “Let the bitch keep her clothes, then, if she wants them so bad. We’ll all see what’s under that dress in a few days, anyway. She’ll end up just the same. Shove her in.”

The bearded man growled and took her from the clean shaven guard. His hand slipped down her arm before she was wrenched away, and for a moment she felt him trying to press something into her hand. The bearded man’s grip tightened on her wrist and her fingers fumbled. Turning, she watched in horror as a small vial shattered on the cobblestones and the clean shaven man stared at her sadly. The liquid inside was barely a mouthful, but Meg was certain it was some kind of poison that would save her days of suffering and humiliation.

She looked away and straightened her back, refusing to look at Crowley as she was led to her cage. It gleamed, deceptively pretty, in the sunshine. But as she drew closer she could feel the heat pouring off of it.

Her father and brother’s bodies stood mounted in the background and she realized that he must’ve had it placed there while she was being hauled out of the tower, realized that he must’ve known about the view from the window and that he had wanted to see her expression when she finally knew the manner of her demise.

Refusing to give Crowley the satisfaction of seeing her scream, she kept her eyes fixed on the burned bodies of her family as another guard swung the cage door open with a gloved hand. She pressed her teeth together to stifle the scream trying to rip itself from her throat when the bearded man shoved her into the cage, the metal burning her feet.

She faltered when the door slammed shut, managing at the last minute to catch herself and prevent her face from slamming against the glowing metal. Blisters erupted on the tender skin of her palms, and this time she could not stop the scream that slipped from her.

She scrambled to right herself, scooting back on her behind and tugging the skirt of her gown forward so she could rest her feet on it. Heat still seeped through the metal, but it wasn’t as unbearable as skin to skin contact. Crowley laughed in the background, and the court laughed with him.

Ignoring them all, Meg once again fixed her gaze on her father’s corpse, wrapped her arms around her knees, and prayed for the release of moonrise.

.

Elsewhere, another creature waited for the sun to rise.

Shivering, the naked man curled himself into a ball on a rocky cliff, his arms around his knees for warmth and a thin, stained blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He knew that he would be safer inside the large cave behind him, less exposed to the dangerous creatures lurking in the shadows, but he did not care. None of them would dare come near his cave. Even in human flesh, he could still smell the reek of the wild thing that lived there on all the nights that the moon was not full. More dangerous than anything that lurked in the woods, it was the dominant presence in his small world, and it would keep him safe.

If he survived until sunrise.

He was silent as he watched the moon reach its peak and then move lower and lower in the sky, the black of night giving way to the first pink rays of dawn. The birds began to sing.

Numb, the man slowly uncurled himself, letting the stained blanket fall off of his broad shoulders. Squatting on all fours, he bowed his head and waited.

He screamed as the dawn spread over the forest. His body suddenly burned and hummed with life. His bones began to slide around under his flesh, elongating and twisting into a shape entirely inhuman. The pain sent a vibrating sensation throughout his skin before it began to tear and he felt warm blood run down his arms as his back split open.

Spines as black as the night began to swell from his exposed spine, shielding the fragile bone as it stretched and swelled, doubling then tripling in length before it was completely covered. Claws sprouted from his nailbeds, his dull, human fingernails shoved away with tattered scraps of human skin. Serrated teeth broke through his gums, grew too large for his mouth before his face began to change as well. His neck elongated, became thicker, forcing his now snout-like face farther from his body. Two large, leathery stumps sprouted from his back and began to grow outward in the beginnings of wings.

His screaming stopped as human vocal chords snapped and dropped out of his ruined throat and new ones formed, the wound closing itself up as hard, armored scales, black as the night, sprouted over his raw, red flesh.

The sun rose higher in the sky, bringing brightness to the mountain dominating the large woodland.

The man vanished with the night. In his place a black dragon with cold, blue eyes watched over his domain.

The dragon threw back his head and roared. A flock of birds rose from the trees, screaming a warning to the creatures below them that their master had returned. The dragon uncurled his large, leathery wings from his back, the sheer size of him blotting out the sun and casting a long shadow across the trees. They pumped to raise him, sending soil and small stones swirling through the breeze as he took flight, his large stomach rumbling with days of pitiful human hunger.

Taking flight, he left to hunt.

.

She lay three days dying.

Her vision swam as Meg huddled in her cage, the sun beating down on her. She shivered despite the heat, slipping her tongue out of her mouth to probe at her lower lip when it broke open and leaked blood. The days were hot and the nights were bitter cold, leaving her sweating during the day and almost wishing for the heat pouring from her cage at night.

The blisters on her hands and feet swelled and popped, leaving behind raw, open wounds that itched and wept pus. She fought to stay awake as thirst and hunger gnawed at her belly, knowing that any time she was vulnerable one of Crowley’s men could slip into her cell and strip her, leaving her bare skin to bake in the sun.

It didn’t matter, anyway, she told herself, sinking her nails into her sun damaged flesh to keep herself awake. Her gown, being as thin and flimsy as it was, had done little to protect her. Her skin throbbed red and raw after three days of sitting in her cage, and it felt tight and almost leathery when she rubbed her arms to warm herself at night. Every small movement brought pain.

She shuddered again and laid her head on her arms, attempting to block out her own scent and the stink of the bodies rotting on stakes a few feet away from her. Reaching to pull her sweat-matted hair over her neck to protect it from the sun, Meg moaned in pain.

She wished the clean shaven guard had succeeded in giving her the vial, wished that he would come back. She would gladly endure the agony of crawling across the burning floor of her cage if it meant she would move toward the sweet, swift release of death. But Crowley had posted his own loyal men around her day and night, and he himself held court in the open air just to observe her suffering.

She knew that he might grant her wish if she begged him to, but she was not yet far gone enough for that. No, she still knew that whatever happened, she had to die with dignity, as her father had and as her brother had.

Whimpering, she mouthed a quick prayer that it would end soon, that she would die of thirst or heat and open her eyes to find her family waiting for her.

Confused when a shadow fell over her cage, momentarily cooling her burning flesh, Meg raised her head to see if there were clouds moving through the sky, hoping for rain. Several members of the crowd began to scream.

The sun returned, illuminating the large, black creature that flew over the castle. It roared, sending fire spewing over the heads of the court. Ignoring the pain, Meg slid across the bottom of her cage on her knees to watch as the dragon swooped downward. The guards around her cage scattered, throwing down their spears as the beast’s wings blew dust into the air.

She screamed when the beast reached her, his wings still moving as it sank the claws of its hind leg into her cage and flew upward. The force of the mighty wings beating knocked over the corpses of her family and the several brave men that rushed forward to try to kill it.

The dragon’s size shielded her from the burning sun as it rose higher and higher and the courtyard below her fell away. Not caring about the pain, she wrapped her arms around the bars of her cage for balance and watched as the world grew smaller and smaller, until she could no longer make out the faces in the crowd. The colors blurred together, and for a moment she saw how beautiful the castle and the courtyard and the country looked from above. The force of his movements knocked her cage sideways, leaving Meg dangling from the bars as she struggled to hold on, hands slippery with sweat and pus and blood.

Her cage slipped.

Screaming as she was knocked to the side, Meg lost her grip on the bars as the world rushed up to meet her. She screamed again when her back slammed into the other side of the cage with a sickening thud, the metal burning her flesh.

The dragon caught her again just before she hit the ground, digging the hind claws of both legs through the bars. Stunned, she stared up at the large, black belly and turned her head to see the creature’s tail whipping from side to side. When she turned her head the other way, she could not see the head, but only the large, lethal claws of the dragon’s front paws, black as the rest of him.

This, she thought, was a fitting way to die.

She smelt her flesh burning even as the metal under her back cooled, but could not bring herself to care. She turned onto her belly, taking care to keep her face away from the bars, and watched the land as it rolled under her. So high up, she could not tell how far the dragon had carried her. She saw small villages and rolling green fields and forests and other things that she suspected were people or livestock. They all ran when the dragon’s shadow passed over them, and for a moment she felt oddly safe. No one would challenge the dragon, and by extension, no one would harm her. She would be brought back to his lair and devoured, and the bards might even make a song about it, the brave princess who resisted execution only to be eaten by a creature from Hell.

Some of them might make it that the dragon was her father or her brother reborn, saving her from a slow, humiliating death. Others might make it that the dragon had been sent by the gods to ease her passage. Meg laughed suddenly and felt moisture roll over her as the dragon broke through the clouds, easing her burns and taking the land from her view.

Safe for the moment, Meg rolled back onto her back and let sleep take her.

She woke when the dragon brought them back down through the clouds. Groggy, Meg rubbed at her eyes and tried to roll herself over onto her stomach, her stiff joints and burned skin protesting at her movements. She forced herself onto her knees instead and watched in horror as the cage neared the ground, the bottom of her prison nearly smashing against the rocky ledge of the cliff as the dragon glided into the large cave that rose from the rocks.

Pressing her lips together to prevent a scream from tearing itself from her throat, Meg threw herself toward the opposite end of her cage and gripped it as hard as she could. The dragon dropped her.

Her prison clattered to the floor, throwing her lower half against the ceiling before she fell limply against the bars. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the cage door fly open, the lock having smashed from the impact of metal on rock. Squeezing her eyes shut, Meg waited for the dragon to thrust its head inside her prison and close its teeth around her, waited for the feeling of hot breath on her back.

Only it never came.

Meg opened her eyes just in time to see the dragon’s tail slip through the mouth of the cave.

Stumbling, she picked herself up off the ground and climbed out of the cage, falling onto her knees on the rock. Her flimsy gown protected her knees from the fall, but the stone scraped along her palms, opening up more wounds on the tender flesh. She let out a small whimper of pain and huddled on the cold ground for a moment before she picked herself up.

She fell again almost immediately. Head swimming, she crawled instead, her instincts screaming at her to get away. The gods had seen fit to spare her a humiliating death in Crowley’s clutches, and once again had seen fit to spare her a quick death at the mouth of a beast that she had thought extinct. She would not laugh in the face of their gift by squatting in the cave and waiting for the dragon to return and devour her.

Small stones scraped at her knees and hands as she crawled from the cool cave and out onto the sun warmed stone and into the sunlight. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she kept moving, moaning with relief when charred, bare ground gave way to cool earth. Shabby grass struggled to grow on the cliff, but the evidence of the dragon’s breath was everywhere. Black smears of burned earth marred the soft green hillside, but the soft soil felt just as good against her ruined skin as the grass.

She fell onto her belly when the dirt turned into mud, slowly rubbing her face against the ground and moving her arms to smear it on her skin. It brought instant relief to her burned skin, even as it hung heavy off her ruined gown and plastered her matted hair to her head.

Unable to crawl any farther, Meg dragged herself forward; blindly searching for the water she knew was near. Letting out a quiet sigh when her hand splashed into a small pool, she heaved herself forward and plunged her head into the water. She sucked it down, the cool liquid soothing her face and throat in a way that not even the mud had.

Reminding herself to be careful, Meg reluctantly pulled her head from the pool and opened her eyes. Small beads of gray water ran down her face, wiping the grime and sweat from her skin and hair. Grass rose up on either side of her, and when Meg turned her head, she could see a small waterfall feeding the pool.

Lying perfectly still, she watched a rabbit spring from the grass, coming to drink. It sniffed and stepped closer to her, poised to run. Meg’s stomach rumbled and she felt her mouth begin to water. She kept still and resisted the urge to leap at the rabbit, knowing that if she moved a muscle it would run.

She was rewarded by the rabbit stepping even closer to her, clearly not seeing her as a threat. She waited until it bent to drink before she pounced, sweeping her arm out and clutching the rabbit against her breast like a stuffed toy. It squealed and writhed in her arms, the animal’s teeth and claws tearing at her skin. She squeezed it tighter until it stopped struggling, the furry body falling limp.

Exhausted, she simply ran her fingers through the soft fur for a moment before she shifted and brought the rabbit to her mouth, knowing even as she sank her teeth into the soft flesh that it was a bad idea. But hunger screamed at her and her head still swam, her survival instinct pressing her more rational thoughts from her head.

Slow, she ordered herself as she tore weakly at the rabbit’s soft stomach. Slow. You don’t want to retch it back up.

Eventually managing to burrow through the skin, Meg tore a strip of dark, red meat from the rabbit’s leg. She sucked it into her mouth and ground it between her teeth until it was pulp before she swallowed, repeating the process three more times before she stilled, exhausted. Sucking on a small bone she’d torn out, Meg drew the small, furry body back to her breast and rolled on top of it to protect her prize, hoping that no other animal would come along. She was too tired to fight, she knew, and easy prey for anything that wanted her.

Yet, she did not think that anything would emerge from the cracks in the rock or come running up from the forest. She was near the dragon’s lair, and while things such as rats or rabbits were too small for it to make a meal of, other predators surely steered clear.

Basking in the mud, she tried to recall all that she had learned about dragons as a girl. But her head still felt fuzzy and a pounding headache began to form behind her eyes, making it hard to remember. All she could recall was that her ancestor had killed a dragon and laid the head at the feet of the ruling queen, earning Lucifer a heavy purse, the hand of the queen’s only daughter, his own crown when the older woman died, and the title of Dragonslayer. It hung on the wall still in the great hall they used for feasting.

If Crowley hadn’t already had it destroyed.

Her face automatically morphed into a scowl when she thought of the usurper, but it changed into a small smile when she thought about how he had been robbed of seeing her die. The thought of his face when the dragon carried her off was enough to make Meg bark out a laugh.

Belly full and comfortable for the first time since her family had been thrown in the prison tower, Meg curled tighter around her rabbit and found herself once again dropping into unconsciousness. This time she let herself, exposed as she was to an attack from above, too tired to care if the dragon returned and snatched her off the ground.

 


	2. Chapter 2

He flew.

Exhilarated by the return of his body, the dragon spread his wings and left his cave in search of food. He had hunted the day before and earlier that morning, but flying so far while carrying such heavy cargo had made his body demand to be fed again.

He had not been born with this body, but some days, when he fell upon a flock of sheep or a travelling carriage filled with gold, he felt like he had. He had been born a human peasant, and he had spent his childhood running through the fields with his brothers and sister while his mother and father ground corn and tended to their modest flock of goats and stable of pigs and cows. It had been a good life, as far as he could remember.

The dragon remembered very little.

He would know his sibling’s faces if he saw them, but they were long dead and buried and rotting in the ground. If he sat very still on full-moon nights, he could remember their names, and the names of his mother and father as well. But they were pushed from his mind as soon as the sun rose and he grew wings and scales once again, instincts he hadn’t been born with rising to the surface in their place.

He knew his name had been Castiel, but no one had used it in the fifty years or so since he’d been cursed and found himself in the form of a beast long thought extinct.

He’d lost count of how long he had been cursed during those first years, using his full-moon nights to try to find a cure. It had been years before he accepted that there was no cure and instead began to resent those three nights a month when he shed his scales and wore human skin once again. As a dragon he was strong, he could pick up carts of people and jewels and carry off a sheep in each of his paws. As a human he could barely pick his way down the mountain to feed on the wild horses and sheep and goats that roamed the valleys around the great forest that stretched for miles around his lair.

Most full moon nights he didn’t bother, instead huddling in his lair under one of the old, thin blankets he had found when he’d stolen a large chest. It had been used to cushion the gold inside, but as a dragon he saw no need for it. All the tales he had grown up with as a child had said that dragons loved gold and jewels and beautiful women. He’d found the first two to be true.

He never bothered with beautiful women, knowing in the back of his mind that kidnapping them surely meant some brave or foolish knight or brother or father or lover would seek her out to rescue her, trying to kill him in the process. One might even succeed.

He’d killed before, by accident or in a rage as men threw their swords and spears at him. But his scales were harder than their steel, and each time he came away with barely a scratch. But he knew, eventually, that his love of treasure would be his undoing. No matter how high he flew, he could see the gleam of gold from the ground, whether it was a necklace upon a maiden’s neck or a chest opened to be admired.

It was a risk to steal the metal cage, with so many in the courtyard. But it had gleamed so brightly that he knew he had to have it. It was worthless, of course, as all his treasure was. He could not use it to buy things as humans could, or wear it to admire its shine for most of the month. And yet he felt compelled to hoard it in his cave.

Distantly, he wondered what it would look like a hundred years from now.

Shaking his head to rid himself of his thoughts, the dragon focused on the ground, turning downward when he saw a herd of wild horses frantically racing across the plains. Fire spewed from his mouth, igniting long strips of grass as the horses veered wildly in an attempt to get away from him. He focused his attention on one, reared back and pumped his wings so hind claws were extended, and plucked the horse from the earth as if it was no more than a toy.

The animal thrashed wildly in his grasp, but Castiel did not let go, sinking his talons harder into the horse’s back until he heard the stallion’s spine snap. It fell limp as streaks of blood fell down its body and splattered to the earth. The smell of burnt horsehair filled his nostrils.

Turning, he headed for his lair, ignoring the urge to set down his prize and feast. The sun was dropping fast in the sky, and he did not like to be away for long.

He set the animal down roughly outside the mouth of his lair when he reached home, preparing to eat. Instead, Castiel found himself looking toward the small pool where rabbits and other animals went to drink, himself included. A small, brown and pink figure lay at the edge, the smell of rotting flesh wafting off her body. Abandoning his kill, Castiel moved closer, jerking back in fear when he saw that it was a small human woman in a stained, soiled dress, her tangled hair drying against her cheek.

His first instinct was to burn her, to let fire stream from his mouth until she was a pile of ashes in the mud. But a softer, human feeling rose to the surface as he observed her battered body and wondered how she’d managed to climb to the top of his mountain. Castiel got his answer when he gently turned her on her back with his snout and saw the burns and bruises marring her body and remembered how warm the metal box had felt under his claws.

He saw the dead rabbit that had been crushed under the breast and the blood smeared across her front and knew what she had done. Revulsion swept through him at the idea. Dragons were the only wild animal to cook their prey, he knew, and he was no exception. She must have been desperate to risk eating raw flesh, or else delirious.

Her eyes opened, the brown spheres widening as they look up at his face. He expected to read fear in her gaze, or even anger, like he had in the eyes of so many before he killed them. Instead, her face betrayed curiosity before it relaxed in acceptance. She sat up, flattening her palms in the mud for support, and tilted forward toward his face.

He opened his mouth, blowing a gust of hot air across her skin. When he looked back down at her, expecting to finally see fear, all he saw was a small smile on her face because his breath had dried her hair and skin. The human hesitated for a minute before stretching her damaged palm out toward his snout. Unconsciously, he leaned forward toward her touch.

The human’s stomach rumbled.

She jerked her hand away and turned to search for the dead rabbit. He leaned forward and grasped it in his mouth before tossing the putrid corpse down the mountain. The human gaped at him and squeezed her eyes shut.

She was hungry.

Turning away from her, Castiel blasted fire over the dead horse, putting it out again almost immediately. He dug his serrated teeth into the charred corpse, pulling chunks of skin and burnt horsehair into his mouth to expose the animal’s tender flesh. It was burned in some parts and bloody in others, but he did not think the human would mind.

He tore away a strip of flesh as long and thick as her forearm, let it dangle from his jaw, and turned to drop it in her lap. She took it in her hands and began to gnaw on it without looking at him. Grease ran down her chin and into her lap as she tore at her meal.

The dragon went back to his horse and settled down to eat, taking care to keep his tail coiled around his body and out of her reach, lest he accidentally hit her and knock her into the pool.

He knew that he should fling her off the cliff with the rabbit’s corpse. Stolen women always meant trouble, whether they were stolen intentionally or by accident. But human feelings began to stir inside of him when he remembered the look of her burned skin and ragged palms. Someone had hurt her, and, if someone had tried to hurt her, it was doubtful that a rescue party would arrive to slay him. If she wanted to wander away from the cliff on her own, he would not stop her.

He continued to tear at the horse, stopping only when he heard soft footsteps against the ground. The human woman stumbled next to him and sank to her knees in the shadow of his neck. Tilting his head downward, he watched her tear into the horse with her hands, ripping small chunks of flesh away with her nails to stuff them in her mouth. Some animalistic instinct in the back of his mind roared at him to push her away from his kill. Another human part of him warmed at the idea of someone sharing a meal with him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten with another, even back before he was cursed.

Castiel let the human woman tear at the dead horse, stretching his neck out to shield her from the sun.

.

She’d looked into the mouth of Hell and come away with a full belly.

When she’d awoken next to the pool to find the dragon staring down at her, Meg had expected to die. She’d been ready to, if that was the fate that the gods intended for her. Instead, the beast had fed her from his own mouth, and it had not protested when she crawled under the shade of his body and torn at his kill with her own hands.

The dragon had wandered into his cave after they’d devoured his kill down to the bone, leaving Meg alone on the cliff. Still wobbling despite her full belly and hours of rest, she crept to the very edge and looked at the world below her. The trees were close enough that, had there not been a sloping valley at the base of the cliff, she could’ve reached out and swept the leaves of the tallest ones with her fingertips.

Meg searched for a pathway to the bottom, cursing when she found nothing. Her whole body throbbed in pain from her burns, and as she scraped her hand back along the stone she felt another blister pop. She slid herself away from the edge of the cliff and wobbled back toward the small pool.

Moaning in pain when her skin protested against her movements, Meg let her toes squish in the mud and pulled her soiled gown over her head, leaving her in only her shift. She pulled the knee length garment off as well and waded into the water, the middle only rising to her waist. She pulled her clothes in after her and scrubbed them against the sandy bottom, beating them against the large rocks that lined the other side of the pool to wash the blood and grime from them. Setting them on some other rocks to dry, she set to cleaning herself, plunging her head under the sun-warmed water to scrub at her hair.

The water was a dirty gray when she emerged, unfit for drinking, but she simply shrugged and continued washing. The water flowed in a small stream down the cliff as the waterfall delivered fresh water from somewhere higher on the mountain. She had no doubt that her small pool eventually fed some larger stream and that there were worse things floating in it than her blood.

Crouching naked in the grass, she pulled her damp shift over her head and tore clumsily at her stained gown. Tearing it into strips, she froze when she felt hot breath blowing against her back, instantly drying her wet skin and tangled hair. She turned and saw the dragon staring at her, his blue eyes wide and his head tilted to the side, as if curious.

“I need bandages,” she explained, thrusting her hand out in front of her to show the dragon her injured palms. “My feet, too. I got beat up pretty bad in that thing.” Meg didn’t expect a reply from the creature. But his eyes gleamed with intelligence and he gently nudged her with his snout, urging her to her feet. He kept pushing her, leading her away from the small pool. Confused, she obeyed his silent commands. The land rose upward on the other side of the water, and Meg climbed the small slope at his urging until she saw the small pool that flowed down to fill the one she’d bathed in.

The dragon breathed over the hillside, ruffling the grass. Meg smiled when it parted and she spotted other plants growing, hidden, among the greenery.

Witch hazel. Wild garlic. Marigold and snapdragon and a dozen other plants that could be used to treat all manner of ailments. She knew them all by name and sight from when her father and uncle had taken her hunting in the countryside as a girl. Azazel had always insisted that his children should know how to care for themselves if they found themselves cast into the wilderness, and suddenly she was glad he’d had the foresight to teach her.

Gathering the short skirt of her shift close to her breasts, Meg bent to pick the plants she needed. She heard a surprised snort and turned in time to see the dragon closing his eyes and looking away from her exposed flesh. She barked out a laugh.

“You’re the most polite animal I know,” she said, dropping the plants in her skirt. She was careful to only take what she needed, leaving the rest behind to grow again. She would need more, she knew, but it was always best to leave some plants behind. “You’re a dragon, for the gods’ sake. I certainly don’t care if you look, as long as you don’t eat me.”

The dragon growled, causing Meg to laugh again.

.

 _She has a nice laugh,_ Castiel decided as he watched Meg bandage her hands. He’d emerged from his cave to find her dripping wet and ripping her gown apart. Had it not been for her burned skin, she would have looked like a nymph from one of the stories his mother had told him as a child, with her short, white shift and wild, tangled hair.

He could not say what compelled him to lead her to the plants. He used them himself during full-moon nights to help patch up the scrapes and scratches that stayed on his human form even when he changed. Once or twice he’d even tripped and tumbled down the side of the cliff, shaving off several layers of his skin and breaking off his fingernails as he’d scrabbled at the stone to save himself from death.

Her smile and her laugh were worth the confusion.

 _I will not eat you,_ he almost told her, snapping his mouth shut at the last second, afraid that she might run if he spoke to her. He still turned his head away when she revealed her naked flesh, however. His mother had drilled that lesson into his head as a small boy, and even years later as a dragon, it was not one that was easily forgotten.

The sun began to sink in the sky, sapping the heat from the stone under them and casting shadows on the land. His stomach rumbled, and he knew that he should hunt again, or else take the woman away from his lair and deposit her at the base of the mountain. There, she could find some village that would take her in, listen to her fanciful tale, and find a place for her. She was pretty enough that she might catch the eye of some smith or fat-faced innkeeper, or even a minor lord, and she would be protected and fed and happy.

But when he saw her stumble again in her makeshift bandages, he knew that she would not get very far at night, not with the predators roaming the woods.

He watched as she began ripping the tallest stalks of grass from the ground and tried to weave them together, cursing when her injured hands would not complete the task. Castiel gave an almost human sigh, lumbered toward her, and used his snout to nudge her in the direction of the cave in the same gentle way he had used it to urge her toward the plants.

“Will you knock it off?” she snapped at him, unafraid. If he had been capable, he would have laughed. His teeth were close enough to rip her in half, yet she scolded him in the same way that he suspected she scolded the village dogs when they bothered her.

He recalled his mother speaking to his siblings in the same tone.

He led her into his lair, pushing her forward again when she tried to turn around and walk back out. The human stumbled and fell onto her backside, and Castiel gently placed his front paw over her middle in a silent command. _Stay. You will be safe. I will bring you food._

“Fine, I get it. No leaving the cave,” she drawled from underneath him. “Move your stupid foot. You’re _heavy.”_

He obeyed, watching in amusement as she brushed the dust from her shift and muttered to herself. He snorted, sending clouds of smoke billowing toward the ceiling from his nostrils. The human wrinkled her nose at him and swore.

He was gone no more than ten minutes, simply plucking a goat from the valley below his home. It was smaller than what he usually ate, but in truth he was too tired to fly further in search of meat. His body was always harder on him surrounding his full moon nights, he’d learned.

But the human seemed delighted with the food he brought back, once again squatting down beside him at the mouth of his lair as he ate. He could’ve devoured the goat whole and alive without even biting into it, but he knew that humans had to eat as much as dragons did, and that she might wander off during the night in search of food if she were hungry.

He wondered if perhaps it was some instinct of his current form that made him want to keep her in his lair. Dragons always stole young women in the stories he’d heard as a child, keeping them on display beside their gold. He wondered how those women had fared when their dragons had brought them half-burnt food, if any of them had grown comfortable in their confinement before they had been rescued by some ambitions dragon slayer.

Part of him wanted to ask the human how she’d come to be in the metal cage that he had stolen, why she had been left to bake and wither in the sun. But he expected that she would tell him soon enough, with no one else to talk to but him.

He thrust the bloody bones away from his lair and nudged her back inside, curling up in the mouth of the cave with his head resting in the open air to prevent her from escaping. The human didn’t protest, but instead walked deeper into the darkness, and he felt her fingertips brushing against the scales of his body as she used him for a guide.

The waning moon rose in the sky, barely a sliver missing from its round form. The dragon slept.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The dragon was gone when she awoke.

Shedding the ratty, stained blanket she’d found on the floor of the cave, Meg automatically folded it and shoved it against the wall so she could find it later. She tiptoed out of the cave cautiously, glancing around for the dragon’s bulky form. Seeing nothing, she relaxed and wandered back over to the pools, climbing the slope to the clear water and bundles of plants.

She gathered more and drank from the pool before climbing back down to the one she’d bathed in. Stripping out of her shift, she pulled her makeshift bandages off her hands and feet, swearing when the fabric pulled at her healing skin. She washed the wounds and splashed water over her face before she set to work on re-bandaging her hands, shoving plants into mouth to chew them into pulp.

The ground shook, signaling that the dragon had returned. Meg ignored it and bent over to wrap strips of her ruined gown around the healing blisters on her feet. When she finished, she turned and saw the dragon staring at her with wide eyes before he slammed them closed and turned away, a growl rumbling in his throat.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she huffed. “You’re a _dragon.”_

“Please stop walking around without clothes.”

Meg froze, her mouth dropping open. Terror filled the dragon’s eyes.

“You can _talk?”_ The dragon stared down at her, his mouth opening and closing with a metallic clicking noise as his large teeth slammed together. Meg stood, water running down her body, and splashed through the pool toward him. The beast growled a warning. “Talk. I know you can _. I_ _heard you.”_

The dragon opened his mouth and roared, blowing hot air across her body. She stared into his open mouth and saw fire forming at the back of his throat, saw bits of charred flesh stuck between his foot-long teeth. Meg refused to look away.

“I died, didn’t I?” she babbled to herself, turning away from his open mouth and walking back into the water. “I died down there and now I’m in purgatory or Hell and you’re a demon here to punish me or watch me. Dragons don’t _talk.”_

She washed her hands in the stream and finished bandaging them, ignoring the dragon when he closed his mouth and watched her. “You are alive,” he said quietly. “I assure you that you did not die. Please, put your shift back on.”

“You’re a dragon. Why do you care?” she snapped, pulling her shift over her head anyway. “Hey, can you do that drying thing again? I’m a little damp.”

The dragon obeyed, sending a wave of warm air over her body. It made her sunburned skin throb with pain, but that faded when she broke open another plant and smeared it on her arms and face. She could already feel her skin flaking in some places, was already healing thanks to the shade and the plants he provided.

“I was taught that it was impolite to look upon a lady when she is unclothed,” he replied.

Meg shook her head. “I didn’t know that dragon mothers taught their hatchlings that, or that they could speak.”

“You’re remarkably calm about this.”

Meg shrugged. “I’m still not convinced I’m not dead or dreaming.”

The dragon hesitated. “I brought food.”

Meg picked at the dry, blackened flesh that still clung to the skin under her fingernails. “Good. I’m starving.” She strode past him, heading for the horse he’d caught. “Do dragon mothers name their young, or do I just call you dragon?”

“My mother named me Castiel,” he stated slowly.

“Well, that’s weird.” Meg sank to her knees beside the corpse and tore into it with her fingernails, the cooked flesh easily falling away. After a moment, Castiel followed behind her.

.

He was an idiot.

 _Why did she have to take her shift off again?_ he thought as he ate. He shook his head to clear away the image of her small, firm breasts and rosy nipples from his mind, sending scraps of flesh tumbling toward the ground when he did. The human yelped in protest when one fell on her head and tumbled down her back, leaving a smear of grease across the fabric of her shift. He almost wanted to laugh at the way she glared at him.

He shouldn’t have spoken to her. But it felt so good to have a conversation with someone after spending decades on his own. He could not even remember the last time he’d heard his own voice.

The human simply stretched out under him when she’d eaten her fill, her head resting on one of his claws. He watched her eyes drift shut, a small, content smile spreading across her face. He finished off the horse, leaving the scraps and bones to bake in the sun.

“Why did you pick up my cage?” the human asked quietly.

“It shone,” he answered. “Dragons, we… we like things that glisten in the sunlight. I did not know that you were in it. Why were you in it?”

“I was dying,” she answered casually. “Hurt like a bitch, too.”

“How did such a thing happen?”

She opened her eyes and bared her teeth at him in a half-smile. “The king commands and his subjects scramble to obey. Crowley had me shoved into that metal box for no reason other than he wanted it done, and because I was Lilith’s daughter. He would’ve done better to marry me and tie himself legally to my father’s throne, but he was smart enough to know that I would strangle him in our marriage bed.”

He hesitated. “But you didn’t die.”

“No, but since Crowley’s up there no one will miss me,” she said cheerfully. “My father and brother are dead, good old uncle Alastair’s definitely dead, and my mother’s been dead and rotting for years. Hell, Crowley probably killed Tom’s little serving girl, too, since she was carrying his bastard.”

Her heart sank when she thought of Hael, the shy, gentle girl who had worked in the kitchens since she was old enough to hold a spoon, and who had captured Tom’s heart with her cooking and her quiet smile. Tom had never seen her rough, reddened hands or the fatigue in her eyes from working hard in the kitchens, and when she was younger Meg had found several poems shoved in his schoolbooks dedicated to the kitchen girl with hair the color of coffee and eyes that shone like sapphires. Meg had rolled her eyes at the flowery language, but she knew that Hael had been delighted by Tom’s attempts to woo her with poetry.

Castiel broke her out of her thoughts. “What do you mean by his kitchen girl is dead?”

“My brother was carrying on with this little servant named Hael,” she explained. “She wasn’t just some stupid, silly little girl, either. She knew that she would never be able to marry him and become queen, since she was just a servant. But she loved him anyway. Ever since they were kids. Tom, too. Her mother worked for us for ages, and we weren’t supposed to play with her, but we did, anyway. Tom always loved her.”

“So you’re…”

“… A princess,” she finished. “Not anymore, I guess.”

His heart hammered in his chest. A princess. He’d kidnapped a princess.

“I’ll have to find a way to get back and kill him, I suppose, or die trying. It’s not in me to hide forever,” she went on. “He killed my father and my brother. He needs to pay.”

Castiel didn’t answer that. Instead, he lowered his head to the ground and nudged her with the side of his face. “What is your name?”

“Meg Masters,” she told him. “So, when are you going to eat me?”

“I’m not.”

“Good.” She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling in amusement. “Alright, you know about me. How’d you learn to talk?”

“The same way you did, I expect,” Castiel told her.

“The stories never say that dragons can speak. They just say that they kidnap pretty girls and hold them hostage with their gold. Do you even _have_ gold? I didn’t see anything in that cave.”

“It’s in the back,” he said, grateful to get off the subject of himself. “I’ll show you.”

.

Meg followed Castiel inside the cave, blinking in the sudden darkness. There were small holes in the ceiling that allowed slivers of light to pour in. The dragon led her around a pile of charred bones higher than her head, stopping behind her to stare at his treasure.

She gasped softly.

Gold and gems lay in small piles on the cave floor, most of them reaching her waist. She spotted coins, jewelry, and weapons in the piles. There were chains as long and thick as her arm and small, delicate golden necklaces that looked so fragile she thought that she could tear them apart with her hands.

“Wow,” she whispered, walking among the treasure and brushing her fingers over a longsword with rubies inlaid on the hilt. “How did you get all this?”

“Sometimes I see treasures while I’m out flying,” he said. “The bottom of the mountain is littered with the corpses of would be dragon slayers. Most of the swords and knives are from them.”

Meg spotted a brush sitting on one of the piles and gripped it. The gold warmed under her touch as she tried to run the soft bristles through her tangled hair, wincing when she pulled at a difficult knot. “This is amazing. If you were human you could live like a king with all the gold you have back here.”

“If I was human I’d be farming,” he said. Meg raised her eyebrows at him.

“Uh-huh. A dragon farmer.”

“All four of my older brothers married farmer’s daughters and became farmers. I thought the woman I was courting was just a farmer’s daughter before--”

The brush slipped from her hand and clattered on the stone. She saw Castiel’s eyes fill with panic. “What do you mean your brothers married farmer’s daughters? You’re a dragon. You can’t get married.”

“I’ve said too much.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s my dream or afterlife or whatever, so you have to tell me.”

“I told you, you’re not dead. I saved you when I kidnapped you,” Castiel snapped.

She ignored him. “You were trying to distract me with gold. Spill it, Clarence!”

“Clarence?”

Meg shook her head. “I’ll explain later. Right now, you talk.”

The dragon hesitated before moving further into the cave and curling up on top of a pile of gold. The coins slipped away under his weight to clatter against the floor, and Meg watched as he used a massive paw to drag them back against the pile. “I was not always a dragon. I was human once, like you,” he explained. “I grew up in a small village not far from here. We kept to ourselves, more often than not. I was the youngest of six children. Once my elder sister married, my parents thought that I should marry, too.

“There was a girl I knew that I thought might accept me. I had… affection for her. We’d known one another since we were children, and she was her father’s only child, so her husband would inherit his farm. It was more than a fifth son could hope for. So I began to court her. She liked me well enough, and I thought that we would marry, have a few children, and grow old together on her family’s farm. But that did not happen. Ruby was… not what she seemed to be.”

“She was a witch?” Meg guessed.

Castiel nodded. “Not the kind of witch who deals in small things like healing or the occasional love potion, either. I found her in the woods, naked before a fire, with blood on her hands. The _things_ she was doing…” The dragon shuddered at the memory. “When I found out, I called off our engagement. I did not want to be associated with such a thing, did not want my children near witchcraft. But she did care for me, because in her grief, she cursed me with this form.”

“Can’t she undo it?”

His icy blue eyes hardened. “She is dead. It did not break the curse.”

“Well, that stinks.”

He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to shrug. “It is not so bad. But that was not the end of it. Once I month, I return to human form. When the light of the full moon touches my wings, I become mortal once more. I only become a dragon again when the moon begins to wane.”

“So you’re saying that, three days out of the month, you’re as weak as a newborn kitten?”

He snorted. “Not so weak as that. But I am as weak as any human man, yes.”

Meg nodded. “Well, no wonder you acted like you did when you saw me naked. Was your witch prettier than me, or something?”

“I never saw Ruby without clothes.” He looked at the ground, and Meg laughed. She would’ve bet all the gold in her father’s vaults that, if he’d been a human, the dragon would be blushing. “But I admit that the two of you do look similar from what I can remember about her. She was raven haired and fair skinned, much like you, and also very, very beautiful. All the unwed men in the village were squabbling for her hand, but I was the one who won it, unfortunately. But I do enjoy this form.”

“If I was a dragon, I’d fly all the way back to my home and rain fire down on Crowley,” she told him. “I wouldn’t be able to take back the throne like that, of course, but eating him would be almost as good. Hey, have you ever eaten anybody?”

“I ate Ruby,” he said quietly. “And a few other people, when it became too much. The first few years in this form were hard. I was more animal than human. Now it seems I have a balance.”

“How come you didn’t eat me?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

Meg picked up the brush again, pulling her dark, waist-length hair over her shoulder to groom it better. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t get eaten. But this is all too weird for me. I’m out.”

“What?”

“I’m out,” Meg repeated. “As soon as I’m not burned all over like a roasted pig, I gotta find a way back home to kill Crowley. Unless you’re volunteering?”

“I’m not sure I could find your castle again,” he told her. “He will kill you if you go back. You cannot fight him, even at full strength. I saw the number of people he had around him. They would kill you.”

She shrugged. “He nearly did, anyway.”

“How long will it take you to heal?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks, probably.”

“Stay here until then,” he suggested. “I will bring you food, and you will be safe from attack with me. When you leave, you may take some gold, if you wish, to buy your way back home.”

“That’s generous.”

The dragon rolled his shoulders once more. “You are the first human I have spoken with in decades. I missed human contact.”

Meg smiled. “Yeah, well, you did save my ass back there. So thanks.” They fell silent for a few minutes, Meg brushing her hair and Castiel sitting on top of his treasure. She felt him watching her. “So, _do_ you think I’m pretty?”

He growled at her. “I’m going hunting.”

Her laugher followed him out of the cave.

.

Meg continued to explore while the dragon was gone, combing through the piles of gold. The collection he had sat on was warmed by his scales, and she guessed that dragons were always warm on the inside. They must have been, to be able to make their own fire.

Pulling an elegant knife from the floor, she smiled as she ran her fingers over the blade. The handle was made of carved bone and inlaid with small emeralds. There were broken bits of wood scattered on the floor, which Meg figured had come from different chests that had held the gold. She searched among the ruined wood for the blade’s sheath, baring her teeth in a smile when she found the soft leather.

There were a few other things scattered on the floor that had no doubt in been the chests with the treasures, but it was clear the dragon had not cared about them. She found strips of leather, shoes that were too large for her, and several sets smelly clothes. Gathering a few things in her arms, she left the safety of the cave and trotted out into the sunlight.

She was halfway through her project when the dragon returned, a cow bleating in his claws, its udder heavy with milk. She ran for the creature before he could cook it, abandoning the shoes she had been fixing.

He tilted his head at her curiously, his wings beating to keep him airborne. “I have an idea. Don’t kill it yet.”

Meg darted back into the cave and, after some exploring, found an intact chest and a jeweled chalice. She dragged them back outside and thrust them under the cow as Castiel watched and dipped his head in understanding. Calling up childhood memories of visiting the country with her family, Meg slid her hands under the cow.

Sweet, fresh milk flooded the chest. Unable to wait, Meg thrust her head under the cow and squirted it into her mouth, moaning at the taste. The ivory liquid ran down her chin and fell between her breasts, but she could not bring herself to care about the mess. She pulled away when she’d drunk her fill and kept milking the cow until her udder ran dry.

Still, she did not allow Castiel near the cow. Dragging her chest of milk away, she fumbled with her knife and drew it across the animal’s throat, sending hot blood running over her bandages and down onto her feet. The cow bleated at her until it fell, limp and struggling, onto the ground. Her dragon growled behind her.

“I want the skin,” she said, wiping her hands on her stained shift. “I found some shoes inside, which I need if my feet are ever going to heal instead of getting scraped up on the stone, but I could use this to make a blanket or some more shoes. I think I remember how to do it. It can’t be harder than skinning a person.”

Night had fallen by the time she’d stripped the hide off the animal. Castiel had watched her the whole time, nose twitching at the scent of blood and meat. He nosed her toward the pool when she was done, encouraging her to wash. The front of her shift was streaked with drying blood, her arms were covered in it, and even her hair was stiff and spiky from where she’d run her hands through it and smeared the liquid through the tresses. One of her bandages had fallen off, exposing her healing skin.

Meg dragged the hide with her and laid it out over the rocks so it would dry and crack in the sun come morning before she jogged back toward the dragon. “I’m hungry, too, and eating’ll only get me dirty again.”

“You found that knife among the treasure?” he asked, blowing on the corpse to put the fire out. Meg nodded as the light disappeared, leaving the dragon almost invisible against the dark rocks.

“Have some milk. It’s good for you,” she said, carving a piece away with the knife.

“I did. You should drink it before it goes bad.”

“After my bath.” She sliced away another strip of flesh and bit it off the tip of her knife. “Do you think you can heat up the water?” It would be painful against her burned skin, she knew, but a hot bath sounded near enough to Heaven that she was willing to endure it.

Castiel rumbled in agreement and strode over to the pool, thrusting his snout into the water. After a moment Meg saw bubbles form on the surface and Castiel pulled his mouth from the pool. She waited until it was cool enough for her to stand and slipped into the pool, leaving her soiled shift behind. Castiel turned away politely until she was submerged.

Meg moaned in delight and let herself soak. “This is like Heaven.”

“I’m glad you think so. I cannot remember the last time I had a bath, hot or otherwise. Water dulls a dragon’s senses.”

“Because you’re fire inside?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Castiel answered. “I see you found some clothes?”

“I’ll finish working on the shoes when the sun comes up,” she told him as she bent to scrub her hair. “But I found some pants and an old shirt. It’s a bit big, though. But better than the stupid dress.”

“I should find some clothes for when I transform again,” he mused. “It would be… _inappropriate_ to be around a princess while undressed.”

Meg sank farther into the water. “Whatever.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

It rained throughout the next week.

Shivering, Meg huddled in the mouth of the cave under the thin blanket she had found, staring out at the hillside. The cow’s hide would be useless, she knew, and the thought of asking the dragon to shield her with his wing so she could answer nature’s call was too embarrassing, even for her. Instead, she chanced the rain and ran back inside as fast as she could to wrap herself in the blanket.

Castiel had grown sullen and angry after a week of constant storms. Unable to stand the water for very long, the dragon had only left the cave in short bursts to hunt the sheep and goats that roamed the valley. And while a single goat or sheep was more than enough to feed her, it was not enough for the dragon, especially when she took her portion.

For her part, Meg had spent the week ripping the stitches out of several of the garments she’d found and fashioning needles from the small bones scattered on the floor of the cave. The pants she’d chosen were thin and loose, providing little shelter from the cold, and the yellowed shirt she found hung nearly to her knees while the sleeves flopped down past her fingers. It was nearly see-through when wet, causing her dragon to constantly blast her with hot air to dry hair.

“You’re shivering,” Castiel observed when he lumbered back into the cave, dropping a dead goat at her feet. Meg pulled her knife from the sheath and began to eat, still clutching the blanket.

“It’s freezing. Almost makes me wish I was back in that damn cage.”

“I could… warm you,” Castiel suggested quietly. “If you like, I mean. We could share body heat.”

“Thanks, but I’m pretty sure that’d kill me.”

Castiel rumbled in confusion. “I don’t understand how you sitting up near my neck, where it is warmest, would kill you. My scales are hot, yes, but not hot enough to burn your flesh.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “That’s not what I was talking about, but alright. C’mere.”

The dragon lowered himself fully to the ground, stretching his snakelike neck out until his snout was nearly in the rain. Shedding the blanket, she quickly hauled herself on top of his front paw and curled herself against her neck. He shifted, curling himself into a ball. Surrounded by his scales, her body warmed immediately and Meg stopped shivering.

“Why did that man try to kill you?” he asked quietly.

Meg shrugged against his scales. “He had to kill all of us, to make sure that there was no one to challenge his rule.”

“But in such a cruel way?”

“He hated my father and myself. More than he hated Tom. It wasn’t personal with Tom, or Hael, or their bastard,” Meg explained. “He loved my mother, Lilith. But my father wanted her, so her father gave her to him. I was told that my mother was very beautiful, with hair like the sun and skin pale as milk. That’s what my father always said, anyway.”

“She passed when you were young?”

“She died birthing me.” Meg snuggled closer to the warmth of his body. “That’s why Crowley hated us. My father for taking her away from him, and me for killing her. He wanted power, too, of course. But that’s why he wanted to make us suffer. Tom and Hael and the child were necessary to secure his throne. Even a bastard of royal blood is better than a stranger. He had to kill father, too, I guess. He did what had to be done, I’ll give him that.”

“If he has a wife and child by the time you return? What will you do then?” Castiel asked.

Meg thought for a moment before she answered. “I’ll have to kill the whelp, no matter what gender it is. If the wife was forced, she will be free to go. If she went willingly to his bed, she’ll join him when I execute him. If she’s pregnant, I’ll have to kill her. I’ll kill her quick, but I owe Crowley pain. He’ll die baking in the sun, smelling his own entrails after I pull them out and pile them at his feet if I have my way.”

“You’re very violent for a princess,” he remarked.

“My father and uncle taught me well,” she answered softly. The rain outside stopped.

“I should hunt again. Maybe bring back another cow or a nanny goat. You cannot survive on meat alone.”

“Sleep first,” she protested. “It’s nearly dark.”

Castiel turned his head and saw the first few stars twinkling in the sky. “So it is.”

.

Moving his large, leathery wings, Castiel peered at the land below him, watching as herds of horses raced across the plains and shepherds struggled to move their sheep beneath the trees. But, with his belly pleasantly full, he felt no need to hunt. There was still half the body of a horse waiting in his cave for him when he returned; even with the meat that Meg would take from it for her own meal.

She’d been asleep when he’d brought the horse back, curled up near the mouth of his lair with one of her makeshift sewing needles in one hand and a half-finished shoe in the other. He’d simply eaten part of the horse and left the rest behind for her, heading out again to enjoy the feeling of the midday sun warming his scales.

If there was one part of being a dragon that he truly enjoyed, it was flying.

He enjoyed the touch of the wind against his scales and the sunlight beating down on him, and he loved how the land looked from up high. He’d dreamed of flying as a boy, and his witch had given him the dream along with his curse.

The ability to fly had been the only thing that kept him going during those first few months, when he’d been torn away from his family and everything else he’d known. Ever since then, he’d come to look forward to the first day after the full moon when the wings grew painfully from his back and he could take flight once more.

He turned when he saw something glitter from the ground. Along with a dragon’s hunger and a dragon’s instincts, Ruby had given him a dragon’s sight and sense of smell. He could spot a glimmer of gold from thousands of feet in the air, could smell a sheep or a horse or human on the wind. But she had also given him a dragon’s greed, and without thinking he pulled his wings close and dove toward the shining object. As he flew closer, he realized that it was only a carriage, painted a brilliant yellow, with a woman and man trembling fearfully near the door while a band of outlaws threatened them.

He landed on the road and roared, knocking the circle of men and the one woman near the carriage to the ground. The carriage might not have been made of gold, but he could see a glimpse of the stuff when he looked inside the carriage doors. More than that, he saw that it had cushioned seats.

 _Meg would like those,_ he thought. _She could make a real bed. I could, too, when the moon transforms me._

Their horse screamed in terror and tried to run. Castiel ignored the human’s screaming and turned to crush the animal under one of his paws. It died as quickly and easily as a human crushing a bug, spraying blood and entrails in the dirt. The humans stared at him without a sound, the rich-looking man and woman clinging to each other in fear while the outlaws looked at him with awe.

The men looked rough, dressed in furs, boiled leather, and bits of stolen mail. They were all dirty with long, ragged beards. But they were unafraid of him, and Castiel felt dread grow in his chest. Humans without fear were never a good thing, he knew. Humans that didn’t fear dragons were often the ones that slew them.

They rushed him.

The couple screamed and clutched at one another as the outlaws ran forward, swinging nicked swords and short spears. Castiel roared and lashed his tail, sending several of them tumbling to the earth to be crushed under their horses. The others stopped charging after that, save for the band’s one clean shaven man. Dressed more richly than any of them, he wore clothes that were clearly old but good quality, and even from a distance Castiel knew good steel when he saw the man’s sword and spear.

The man vaulted off his horse, avoiding Castiel’s paw as he slammed it down onto the man’s mount. He hissed in pain as the man buried his spear in Castiel’s back, managing to slide it into his flesh between the layers of his scales. The man twisted it.

Castiel screamed.

He thrashed his head, tossing the man back to the ground. Rather than remain in the battle, he spread his wings, the strength of the wind keeping the remaining outlaws pinned to the earth. He grabbed the carriage before he took flight, unable to resist the faint shining of the gold.

Another spear went flying past him, barely missing the vulnerable skin of his wings. Anger brewed in Castiel’s belly, and without thinking he turned, roared, and sent fire down upon the land. He watched it burn for a moment, the force of his wings beating fanning the flames as the scent of burning flesh and wood rose to meet him.

The clean-shaven man still lived.

Turning, Castiel headed for the safety of his lair.

.

“You’re an idiot,” Meg said.

“I know.”

“There wasn’t even that much gold in there,” Meg continued. She put her hands on her hips and watched as Castiel tried to reach the spear. It was too close to his head for him to reach with his teeth, and he was unable to get a grip on it with his paws. All he’d managed to do was break the spear in half and push it deeper into his flesh.

And, just as Meg had said, there was barely any gold inside the carriage. The man and woman had been transporting a few of her gems with them, but for the most part their carriage contained a few spices and a chest full of their clothes and linens. Any coin they carried must have been kept on their person, for Meg had searched the whole carriage and come up with not so much as a penny.

“I couldn’t help it,” he whined.

“You’re an idiot,” Meg repeated, watching as her dragon tried to get his teeth around the spear. She shook her head. “Lie down. I’ll get it.”

Castiel glared at her for a moment before he obeyed, stretching himself out on his belly. Meg scrambled up his body, taking care to keep her still-tender palms from ripping open on his scales. Once she reached his back, she gently slid along his neck until she reached the spear. Straddling him to keep her balance, she gripped it with both hands.

Heat pulsed between her thighs as it poured off his body, and for the first time in her life she felt her face grow red with embarrassment at the feeling. Even if he had been human at some point, and would be human again in just a few short days, he was still a dragon now.

She cleared her throat loudly. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

She yanked the spear from his back, hissing in pain when his blood dripped onto her hand. The wound smoked, and his blood with it. It burned her fingers.

Castiel gave a little grunt of pain and went to rise. Meg scrambled on his back, hugging him tighter with her thighs and gripping at his scales. “Hey!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, turning his head around to look at her. Meg glared at him and playfully swatted his nose.

“I could’ve broken my head open on the rocks.”

“The fall is not so far, and you are more likely to land on your legs.”

Meg rolled her eyes. Falling off of Castiel’s back would be like falling from the roof of her father’s stables. She’d done that, once, when she and Tom had been looking for a quiet place to play at swords, and suffered a broken leg for it. Her uncle had told her she was lucky it hadn’t been her head. “I’d break my legs, then how would I fight Crowley?”

“Badly, I expect,” he answered, gently nudging her with his nose. Meg grabbed at his snout to keep from falling onto her back, and Castiel gave a dragon’s sort of laugh. It sounded more like a growl, but Meg saw amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I’m glad you think that’s funny.”

“Maybe if you…” Castiel started. But then he shook his head.

“Maybe if I what?”

“Maybe if you hold onto my horns you won’t fall off,” he suggested. “You could come with me, once my neck is feeling better and your palms are healed.”

“You wanna take me for a ride, Clarence?”

“If you like,” he said cautiously. “And I still don’t know what that means.”

“I’ll tell you later. Let me down now. I’m starving.”

.

Curled up on the ground, Castiel watched as Meg hung some of the linens from the carriage out to dry. With his help she’d snapped several branches off of the trees and hung them between the rocks he’d hauled onto the cliff to make herself a clothes line. The woman’s clothes had been too big for her, and she insisted that she had no need for gowns where she was, so she had spent the better part of the last two days turning them into bandages, blankets, and pads for between her legs, although she had kept several of the woman’s underthings and one red dress.

Belly full, he dozed in the sun, soaking up the day’s heat. He could smell her blood, and knew whenever she was in pain by the way she doubled over and clutched at her middle. But she had refused to say anything to him, whether out of embarrassment or indifference he didn’t know, so he ignored it. She hummed while she worked, clad only in a pair of short, loose pants and a scrap of material tied around her breasts at his insistence. The rest of the clothes she’d dug up from his lair and the carriage already hung off the branches to dry in the sun.

Castiel had to admit that it was peaceful. Part of him wished that Meg was not so determined to leave him. She moved better now, her skin almost completely healed. Bits of it still tumbled from her body in flakes, and she itched constantly, but the wounds on her hands and feet had closed. She’d told him that the skin was still tender, and that she had to be careful about re-opening the wounds.

He suspected that she was reluctant to leave the safety and simplicity of his lair and risk her life to return to the complicated world of court.

He knew nothing about it himself. He’d grown up as a peasant and spent the better part of his life as a dragon, having no need for human laws or politics. Meg had tried to explain them to him once while they ate, but he hadn’t been able to understand them. He wasn’t built for that world of secrets and politics and backstabbing. He was, as he had always been, built for farming, for simplicity. He could not even read or write.

The sound of rocks tumbling down the mountain reached them.

Castiel’s eyes flew open. He saw Meg drop the pair of trousers she was holding and turn toward the sound, her own eyes wide. Castiel got to his feet impossibly fast for a creature of his size, coiled his tail around Meg’s small body, and drew her behind him.

The clean-shaven man from the road hauled himself onto the cliff and drew his sword, his gaze going to where Meg peered out from behind Castiel’s hind paws. “Beast.” He nodded at her. “Fair maiden.”

“Well, he got that half right,” Meg muttered.

But her comment did not deter the would-be dragon slayer. “I shall rescue you from this monster’s clutches, my lady. I will save you.”

“So save yourself,” Meg retorted. Castiel rumbled in laugher as the man’s face reddened. “Hey, Clarence, is this is the idiot that threw the spear at you?”

Castiel ignored her and focused on the man. He charged, aiming for the dragon’s eyes. But the man no longer had the advantage of surprise or the confines of the forest. Castiel simply opened his mouth and closed it over the man, his foot long, serrated teeth easily tearing through the meat of his stomach. Entrails poured from the wound and blood flooded his mouth, and the man gave a final scream against his tongue before Castiel’s teeth tore through his spine. He swallowed him, sword and all, and Meg watched the lower half of her rescuer fall onto the ground, the gaping wound above his legs spilling viscera and blood onto the dirt.

“Well, that sucked. I liked his vest,” Meg said, walking over and giving the remains a kick. Wrinkling her nose, she wiped her foot on the man’s stained pants.

“You should’ve said something,” Castiel rumbled. “I only would’ve eaten his head.”

“Can you even eat a sword?” she asked.

As if in answer, Castiel coughed. His whole body shuddered before his neck bent like a bowstring and, with a great heave, the sword dropped out of his mouth, covered in blood and saliva. “No.”

“Good steel,” Meg commented, picking it up. Strings of slime clung to the sword and to her hands, but she ignored it, testing the sword’s balance by swinging it experimentally. She cursed and wiped the blade against her pants, shaking her hands to fling away the sticky saliva coating her fingers.

“If he found us, others will,” Castiel warned. “With the full moon coming, we must be careful.”

“Well, you certainly can’t eat anybody as a human, but if someone finds two people living up here, they’re not gonna kill them,” Meg argued. “I mean, are you going to tell them you turn into a dragon and eat people? They’ll think you’re crazy.”

“You believed it.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, I was also still recovering from almost dying. I’m still not sure I believe it.”

“You’ll see,” he promised. “Already, I feel weaker.”

“Alright, fine. But we’ve gotta take care of... _that.”_ Meg gestured to the body, growing cold in a pool of blood and excrement. _“I’m_ not gonna eat it. Are you gonna finish it, or should I shove it off the edge?”

Castiel didn’t answer. Instead, he blew a small stream of flame toward the body, bringing a smell that was oddly like pork to Meg’s nostrils before he bent and scooped the rest of the body into his mouth, swallowing it without bothering to try to chew. Meg wrinkled her nose again.

“Do me a favor. If you ever do decide to eat me, make it less messy. And chew first.”

“I’m not going to eat you,” Castiel protested.

“I’m teasing, Clarence. But did it have to be so goddamned bloody? I’m seeing enough of that lately, thanks.”

“Are you… are you still hurting?” he asked. Meg nodded. “Leave the laundry. Relax for the day.”

“Moving makes it hurt less,” she said.

“You just need something warm. Come.”

“Really, it’s-- _Castiel!”_

Castiel wrapped his tail around her once again, cutting off her protests. Curling up on the ground with his back to the cooling puddle of blood, he placed Meg on his front paw and gently put his tail over her middle.

“When I was a boy, my mother’s blood would keep her bedridden. My father used to put heated water in skins for her to keep pressed against her back and belly. He always said it helped her,” he explained. “We have no skins to store water, and I would likely make it too hot, but I am warmer than they were, and I will not get cold like water would, so you do not have to keep moving and replacing them.”

“I can still smell his blood on you,” she complained.

“And I can smell yours. But you get used to it,” he said. “Now, relax.”

She laughed, and Castiel laughed with her, sending clouds of smoke billowing from his nostrils and causing a pleasant vibrating sensation to roll through her body. “I do feel better. Hey, you said you were the youngest of six, but you only mentioned four brothers and talked about your sister once.”

“I think my sister’s name was Anna,” Castiel told her. “She married a butcher.”

“Tell me about her. Distract me.”

Castiel did.

.

“You better not drop me,” Meg warned, shifting on his neck. If Castiel had been human, he would’ve rolled his eyes at her.

“It’s now or wait another three days,” he pointed out. “Now that you’re feeling a bit better, this is your chance. Just hold on. I won’t go too fast.”

He felt Meg shift on his back and wrap her hands around his horns. “I mean it. Falling off a dragon is a cool way to go, but I’d rather not go at all.”

“I won’t drop you,” he promised. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Castiel walked slowly to the edge of the cliff and spread his leathery wings. Meg tried to keep her eyes focused on the horizon in front of her, but she couldn’t help but look down at the ground below them. She’d never realized how high up the cliff was before, even when she was riding in her cage.

Castiel flew.

She closed her eyes and coughed, the beating of his wings sending up clouds of dust that choked the air. When she opened her eyes again, they were above it all. She’d pulled her hair into a braid and tied it with a strip of cloth, but the force of the wind ripped it away until her hair streamed freely behind her. The wind stung her eyes and she could barely hear his voice over the sound of his wings beating. Her stomach flipped as her dragon climbed higher and higher into the sky, the land below her turning into a green and yellow blur at his speed.

Tilting her head back, Meg laughed.

Leaning forward against his horns when Castiel straightened out, she wrapped her arms around one and smiled, resting her chin against his head. The sky stretched in front of her, impossibly blue, and the sweet, fresh air should have chilled her. But the heat of the dragon between her thighs seemed to warm her whole body, and even the rough texture of his scales could not distract from her joy.

She was flying.

 _No wonder humans dreamed of dragons for so long,_ she thought. _No wonder we slew them. We were jealous._ In all the stories she had heard when she was young, not one of the heroes had ridden a dragon. As far as she knew, she was the first. _And odds are, no one will ever know._

“Hold on!” Castiel called. She did, gripping him tighter, and gave a joyous whoop as he glided over a stand of trees and turned to the side. She reached out with one hand and let her fingers brush through the tallest leaves, ignoring how the force of them slapping against her skin stung her palms.

She righted herself when Castiel did, naturally rolling with his body. Her breathing quickened as he curled his wings closer to his flanks and took them into a dive. Screaming in excitement, she wrapped both her arms around his horns and tightened her thighs around his neck as the ground rushed up to meet her. Castiel roared in response, pulling them out of the dive a moment before they crashed into the ground and sending them back into the air, soaring so high she could barely see the forest under them.

She screamed again when he rolled them over, dangling her upside down for a moment in the air. Her stomach lurched, and when he righted them, her hair flew in front of her eyes for a moment, hiding the clouds and the ground from her view and scrambling her senses. She had no time to recover before he flipped them again and again, corkscrewing through the air, wings tight to his body and shielding her from the worst of the wind. The world spun and she felt her ears buzz, unable to hear anything aside from her own blood rushing through her head and the fierce billowing of the wind.

She heard him laughing under her as greens and yellows and reds and blues and whites all blended together in a blur, the land and sky coming together so fast until she couldn’t focus and all she could feel was her heart pounding in her chest, the wind dancing across her face, and the heat of her dragon between her thighs. She clung to him as tightly as she could, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe between her screams of delight as Castiel moved them faster.

He righted them and shook his head. Meg suspected that he was just as dizzy as she was. Out of breath, she slumped against his horns as he began to glide toward a large, open field. Her head still swam and she could barely see, but her vision returned just before he touched down, his claws scraping large furrows in the grass.

Castiel landed hard, sending her sliding forward. His scales tore at her short pants, opening small tears in the material, but Meg couldn’t bring herself to care. The dragon fell onto his stomach, breathing hard. She slipped off his neck and took two steps on shaking legs before she fell and rolled onto her back on the grass, her body trembling and her chest moving in time with his. She closed her eyes and waited for the ground to stop moving under her back and for her heartbeat to return to normal.

“Wow,” she breathed, staring up at the clouds. Castiel turned his head to look at her.

“I told you I would not drop you.”

“Cookie for you,” she mumbled, staring up at the clouds until her arms and legs stopped shaking. It seemed impossible that she’d been up there just a few minutes before, mounted on a dragon. But it had happened. “We have to do that again.”

“Well, if we don’t, there’s no way for you to get back to the lair.”

Meg turned onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “You know what I meant.”

“You enjoyed it, then?”

“It was…” Meg tugged at her tangled hair, searching for the right words. “It was _something_ , alright.”

Castiel hauled himself to his feet and stretched his neck back out in her direction. “We should find food. I will be unable to hunt for the next few days, so we should either gorge ourselves now or find something to keep with us.”

Meg scrambled back onto his neck. “I see some fruit trees over there. Next time, I’ll bring a sack to carry stuff. I can make one out of some of those linens.”

Castiel stretched, putting Meg close to the trees. After a moment, she pulled an apple from one of the branches and bit into it, moaning in pleasure. He watched her tighten the leather belt around her waist keeping her shirt in place before she dropped a few of the apples down her shirt.

“Will they stay in place?” he asked. Meg shrugged, tossing her apple core to the ground.

“Only one way to find out.”

Castiel spread his wings again. Meg tightened her legs around his neck and leaned forward eagerly. “Hold on,” he said.

Meg obeyed, laughing as he launched them skyward.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“That should do it,” Meg said, dusting her hands together. The goat she’d tied to the rock bleated at her and then wandered over to graze on the grass coating the side of the mountain. The milk cow and horse Castiel had brought back to the cave were also tied up, the spare shirt she’d found was dry and waiting for him, and she’d repaired two pairs of trousers she’d found with his gold.

Now all they had left to do was wait.

“This is… messy,” Castiel said, settling down onto his stomach and curling his tail around his body. “You should not watch.”

“Not like I’ll be able to see much, anyway,” she said, thrusting a large stick in front of him. “Fire, before you can’t anymore.”

He obeyed. The first time he tried, only smoke came from his mouth, and it took two more great heaves before a small stream of flame danced onto the stick. Meg didn’t comment. Instead, she walked over to the small pile of wood at the mouth of the cave as the sky grew darker, thrusting the burning stick into the kindling so they would have a fire for warmth and cooking.

The wood crackled merrily as Castiel screamed.

Meg turned and saw her dragon close his eyes in pain. Fire spewed from his mouth for a moment, lighting up his body. Her stomach tightened from what she saw in the brief flash. His tail was already gone, as were his wings. It looked as if his scales were melting off his body in thick, black rivers.

Fire stopped spewing from his mouth, plunging them back into darkness. Even the glow from the moon could not help her make out his hulking form among the darkness. Unable to see beyond the circle of her campfire, she could only listen to his screams and the slick, sloppy sounds of his change as his bones shifted and his armored scales fell away.

“You okay, Clarence?” she called when he fell silent. “Castiel?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, his voice trembling. “It hurt. It always hurts.”

“Come to the fire,” she coaxed. “Come on. It’s warm.” She heard the soft sounds of footsteps and waited for him, her mouth dropping open when Castiel moved into the light.

Her dragon walked toward the fire, naked as the day he was born. He was pink as a newborn babe, his skin fresh and new, and even in the faint light she could see that his hair was the same dark color as his scales. His eyes remained the same as well, still the wide, blue orbs she had looked into nearly a month ago when he’d woken her by the pool, so sure that he would kill her.

“Meg?” he said quietly, dropping his hands to cover his front. “Meg, where are the clothes?”

She closed her mouth and groped blindly for the pants, keeping her eyes fixed on him, unable to look away. He had more muscles than she’d expected, and she felt her body warm at the sight. But then he shivered, and she grabbed the shirt and walked her bundle over to him, politely looking away when he turned away from her to dress, peeking only briefly at his backside. When he was finished, she grabbed the single blanket she’d stolen from the carriage and wrapped it around his shoulders from behind.

“You didn’t tell me you were handsome,” she teased. He blushed in the faint light of the fire, and Meg smirked at him. “Oh, come on. I’m teasing.”

“I’m tired,” he blurted. “Meg, is the carriage, erm, suitable for sleeping in?”

“I ripped the cushions off the benches and rustled up as many blankets as I could,” she said. “It’s early yet, though.”

“The transformation always… it always hurts,” he tried to explain. “I feel so weak afterward, and just… vulnerable and cold without my scales and claws. I just need…”

“You need to sleep, I got it,” she finished for him. Reaching out, she took his hand to lead him inside the cave where she’d made a bed for them. He looked down at their joined hands in confusion for a moment before he tightened his fingers around hers and allowed Meg to bring him in. The light from the fire didn’t reach the makeshift bed, and she groped blindly for it in the dark with one hand, letting out a small yelp when she tumbled forward onto the cushions, tugging Castiel with her so he landed on top of her.

He scrambled off of her, rolling over until he fell back onto the cave floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, we’re going to have to sleep together for body heat, anyway,” she said. “C’mere.”

He did, crawling back onto the nest of blankets and cushions with her. She put her hand out, searching, and finally found the one larger blanket she’d clumsily stitched together from several gowns she’d found in the carriage. Pulling it over both of them, she kept a respectful distance until she felt Castiel creep closer and wrap his arms around her.

“I’m still cold,” he explained. He kept his touch light; as if afraid she would reject him and shove him away from her. “Is this alright?”

“You know, this is more effective if you do it without clothing,” she teased. He stiffened, and she laughed. “I’m just messing with you, Clarence, it’s perfectly fine. Go to sleep.”

“Are you ever going to explain that to me?” he asked, relaxing behind her when he realized that she wasn’t going to push him away.

“Later,” she promised, crossing one of her arms over his and linking their fingers together. Despite claiming he was cold, Castiel felt warm to her, and she unconsciously found herself sinking into his touch. Meg felt him smile against the back of her neck before his breathing evened out and he fell asleep.

Warm and content, she drifted off.

.

He was still clinging to her when she awoke.

Shrugging out of his arms, she tucked the blanket around him and fed the fire before heading toward the pool. She’d just finished scrubbing her face when she felt him sink down to his knees beside her. “You’re up.”

“You weren’t there,” he said.

She studied his face and licked her lips. He looked even better in the sunlight. His skin had gone from pink to tan seemingly overnight, the newborn shine giving way to what he must’ve looked like before he was cursed, and his dark hair stuck up in every direction from sleep.

“The fire needed wood, and we should get some breakfast.” She looked at him closer and wrinkled her nose when she saw a smear of dirt on his face. The scent of smoke wafted off of him. “You should scrub your face, too. Actually, you should probably take a whole bath.”

His face reddened again. “That would be--”

“If you say that it would be inappropriate, I’ll smack you,” she threatened. “It’s not hot, and there’s no soap, but it’ll work. I’ll go after you. I’ll even keep my back turned while you do it. I promise.”

She did as she promised; keeping her back turned to him as she went and milked the cow they’d stolen. He came over when he was done, dripping wet, and sat next to her in the dirt, turning it to mud as it clung to his loose pants. She ignored it, handed him the jeweled goblet, and watched him drink, milk running out of the corners of his mouth. He didn’t bother to wipe it away and simply dunked the goblet back into the chest again for more.

“You’re gonna puke it up if you keep doing that,” she warned, pulling the goblet from his hand and taking her own drink. “Are you hungry?”

“Not at the moment, no.” He stared at her with wide eyes, milk still dripping off his chin. “You’re, um, taller than I thought.”

She laughed. “I’m not used to you being so short. Wipe your face, Clarence.”

He did, missing nearly all of the milk on his chin. Meg laughed again and used her sleeve to wipe it off for him. He grabbed her hand before she could pull it away, lacing his fingers through hers.

“I cannot remember the last time I did this with a person before you,” he murmured, focusing on her face. Meg leaned closer to him and took his other hand.

“Probably your little witch before she cursed you,” she breathed, her lips nearly brushing his. Casitel’s eyes flicked down to her lips before they focused on her face again.

“Yes, that was probably the last time,” he agreed. “I’ve never actually…”

Cutting him off, Meg kissed him.

He was warm, warmer than any human man without a fever had the right to be, and she sank into the feeling, slipping her fingers from his to wrap her arms around his neck while his automatically went around her torso. Despite his bath, the smell of smoke still lingered on his skin, and when she ran her tongue over his lips she could taste it on his mouth. He kissed her back slowly and clumsily, unpracticed after so many years alone.

Castiel looked almost disappointed when she pulled away from him. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I just… I had hoped that…” He shook his head again. “It does not matter.”

Meg simply shrugged and leaned forward to kiss him again, frowning in confusion when he pulled away from her. “What is it, Castiel?”

“We shouldn’t.”

She laughed and climbed into his lap, straddling his waist like she had straddled his neck while he was a dragon. He was still warm between her thighs. “I want to kiss you again. We only have three days of this, Clarence. We should make the most of it.”

“It would be inappropriate. Dishonorable to you.”

Meg laughed. “I’ve been ‘dishonored’ since I was fifteen, Clarence.” She laughed again at his shocked expression. She’d lost her maidenhead in the castle gardens at fifteen to a kitchen boy. He hadn’t been highborn, or handsome, but he had made her laugh. Castiel reminded her of him a little, except he was handsome and smooth-faced where the kitchen boy had been plain-faced and bearded. She thought his name had been Benny or Penn, but she could not remember which.

Her father had sent him away when he’d found out, of course. He had wanted to put the boy to death, but Meg had protested. She had been fond of him, almost loved him, and in the end that had been enough to spare his life. It had not been enough to save his tongue before he had been driven from the castle, however. It had seemed unfair to her at the time, that Tom could keep his kitchen girl while she could not keep her kitchen boy, but in the end she knew it was for the best. Years later she’d heard that he had made a good living as a pirate, and was richer than he ever would’ve been working in the castle kitchens.

But her father was dead. Unless he rose from the grave to come for her, the late King Azazel Masters would not be coming for Castiel’s tongue.

“You look surprised,” she said. “Or disgusted, now that you know.”

“No. You told that other man that he was half-right when he called you a fair maiden, and it is not my place to judge you.”

“Well, I won’t dishonor _you,_ then.” She went to slide out of his lap, raising her eyebrows when he placed his hands on her waist and her still.

“More kissing would be welcome,” he told her. “I have never done that before.”

Meg snaked her arms around his neck again and sank into the heat pouring off his body. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

.

He followed her around like one of her father’s dogs after that; sticking close to her side as he helped her butcher the goat he had brought up the day before. At first his hovering annoyed her, but when he rustled up another knife from inside the cave and began to help her, cleanly severing the animal’s head and expertly skinning it, she welcomed his assistance.

“You know, if we treat it right, you can have a pelt to sleep on,” he told her as they began to slice up the skinned corpse.

“I won’t be here long enough to need a pelt to sleep on,” she pointed out as their food cooked. “I’m healed, Castiel.” He grew quiet after that and the two ate in silence, Castiel occasionally throwing more wood onto the fire. When they’d finished, Meg stood and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “I’m filthy and you’re filthy. We both need a bath. C’mon.”

“I can wait until you finish.”

“We can just both go in with our clothes on. They need a wash, too,” she pointed out. Both of their arms were covered in blood up to their elbows, and Castiel had grease smeared on his face.

“Alright.”

He waded in with her, letting Meg use her palms to rinse his hair. The sun began to set behind them, stretching the shadows over the grass and bringing his first day as a human with her to an end. The fire crackled merrily in the background.

He was just as quiet during their bath as he had been during dinner, but Meg found that he would not stop touching her. He kept his hands on her waist to steady her when she dunked her head under the water, helped her scrub her arms clean of the blood crusted on her shirt and skin, and finger-combed her hair while it slowly dried in the cool, night air. The full moon shone down on them, turning the water into liquid silver and illuminating his face enough that she could see how large his pupils had grown and the look of concentration his face as he touched her.

Meg bathed him back, running her hands over his face to wipe the blood and grease from his cheek and using sand from the bottom of the pool to scrub his skin. She shivered when she moved her hands to wash away a smear of blood that had somehow found its way onto his shoulder. Despite the chill in the air and the cold water, his skin was warm under her hands, and Meg found herself running her palms over his neck and shoulders long after they were clean, trying to absorb his warmth.

The only shirt she had managed to salvage for him was white, and it clung to him like a second skin. She could see the outline of his chest in the faint light of the moon and ran her hands down to stroke the skin there, able to feel the heat pouring off his body through the soaked fabric. From the look on his face, and the way his eyes kept flicking downward, she was sure that he could see through her shirt, too. But unlike the other times he had seen her with little or no clothing, he did not blush or look away.

Kneeling, she leaned closer to him, nearly pressing their chests together. His hands moved from around her waist and up her back, stroking her skin through the thin, yellow shirt. She shivered again at the difference in temperature and arched into his touch, her breathing becoming shallow as he toyed with the wet strands of hair at the base of her neck and ran the knuckles of one hand down her spine.

She thought of teasing him, since had been reluctant to do so much as kiss her earlier that morning. But if he had changed his mind, she wasn’t going to complain. Instead, she shifted in the water, once again settling herself in his lap. The soft sound of the small waterfall splashing down into their pool muffled her heavy breathing as Castiel moved his hands from her back to her front, gently stroking the skin between her breasts and her sex, taking care not to move them to actually touch her between her legs. Insects began to hum in the background, the sound adding more cover to drown out their heavy breathing as she ground herself down against him.

“Meg, I…”

She shushed him. “Don’t talk.”

He kissed her, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her flush against his body. Meg let him take the lead this time, moaning against his lips when Castiel tangled his fingers in her long, dark tresses and pulled at them. He was so impossibly warm against the chill of the night air and the water that she found herself clinging to him. Their teeth clacked together, and he roughly nipped at her bottom lip before he dropped his head down to kiss her neck and used one hand to roughly yank at her shirt, exposing her shoulder.

He nipped at any exposed skin that he could reach, and Meg knew that, come morning, she would be covered in bite marks and small, dark bruises. But then he sank his teeth into her neck again, and she found herself tangling her fingers in his hair to keep his mouth on her. Grabbing one of his hands, she guided it between her legs, pushing it through the top of the short, loose trousers that she wore. His face morphed from arousal to confusion.

“Move,” she growled, grinding down against his fingers. “Cas, _move.”_

He did, slipping his fingers into her warm, wet heat. She moaned again, moving his other hand to her breast. He thumbed at her nipple through the wet shirt, dipping his head down to take the other one into his mouth. The material scraped against his tongue, but he was rewarded with another long, breathless moan when he gently nipped her. Castiel moved slowly, clumsily, while Meg tried to arch into his touch and buried both of her hands in his hair. He moved his hand from her chest and wrapped it around her waist again to keep her still.

“Bite a little,” she gasped, throwing her head back and squeezing her eyes shut when he obeyed. “Harder.”

He did, pressing his fingers harder into her as he moved his mouth over to her other breast. She squirmed, trying to move and whining when his arm kept her pinned to his lap. The cool water and the heat of his skin mixed together, and Meg drew him up for another kiss so she could press her chest against his, shaking his arm off so she could move on his fingers.

Meg made a small noise of protest when Castiel slipped his hands out of her trousers and gripped her waist again, but it changed into a squeal when he lifted her out of the water. She wrapped her legs around his waist and put her arms back around his neck, pressing into his heat and peppering small, quick kisses to his face as he walked them toward the fire.

Blinking against the sudden burst of light, he stumbled, sending both of them sprawling to the ground. Meg kept her hold on him, crushing her lips against his and clawing at his soaked shirt. Water ran off both of them in small streams, turning the dust under her back into mud. It soaked into the material of her shirt, making it heavier from behind as the weight of Castiel’s chest kept it plastered to her body.

Meg finally worked her hands under the material clinging to his back and groaned against his lips, bunching it up around his neck as she tried to get his shirt off, desperate to feel his warm skin against her cold flesh. He broke their contact only to allow her to pull it over his head and reach for her own. Meg flung their shirts away toward the grass, not caring where they landed, and pulled him back down to her, the mud pleasantly cool against her back. His shoulders flexed under her touch, strong from years of farm work and flying, and Meg groaned at the feeling of his warm skin moving under her fingers, her nails digging into his flesh to keep him where he was.

His skin was impossibly warm against hers, and she held Castiel to her as tightly as she could, rubbing herself against him, craving the heat pouring off of his body. He nuzzled her neck, a low growl rumbling in his throat, and suddenly Meg realized that his teeth were just a little bit sharper than a human man’s. She tugged his head away and kissed him again, letting Castiel run his hands up her sides to her neck, brushing the hair away from where it clung to her skin.

Meg tugged at his trousers while he kissed her, growling into his mouth when the soaked material stuck to his legs. The noise seemed to excite him, and suddenly Meg felt a rush of cold air against her skin when Castiel drew away from her and tried to rip her own wet pants down her legs, the soaked material fighting him. She almost wanted to laugh at the look on his face when they tangled around her ankles, but then she shivered and thought better of it. His own pants followed hers with a small tearing noise, and Meg winced, ignoring the fact that she would have to find a way to repair them the following day.

He draped himself back over her and went back to biting any exposed skin that he could reach, nipping his way down her neck and between her breasts to nuzzle at the soft skin of her stomach. Meg whined in protest at the loss of his heat, tugging at his arms to try to draw him back to her. Her nails cut into his skin, ripping a growl from Castiel’s throat. He rested his chin on her belly button and glared up at her. Meg smirked down at him.

He crawled his way back up her body, his own chest heaving. She could feel his arms trembling on either side of her as she slid her hands up his sides to tangle them in his hair and pull him down to her again. The heat pouring off the fire and the heat from his body mingled, and Meg could barely feel the cold air around her as Castiel continued to kiss her, her hands smearing drying mud along his skin. Inhuman rumbling noises poured from his mouth when she raked her nails down his back, and she felt Castiel arch into her touch, his cock rubbing against her in a way that made her groan.

“Is this okay?” he asked. Meg wrapped her legs around him in response, silently urging him on. Castiel surged forward, sinking her teeth into the spot where her neck and shoulder joined to keep her still.

They gasped in tandem, Meg half in pain and half in pleasure. She rolled her hips up to meet his thrusts until Castiel growled and bit her harder, one of his hands moving down to keep her leg hitched around her waist. Nearly crushed under his weight, Meg dug her nails into his shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut, not caring about the pain in her neck or his weight above her. He was so warm that she felt almost like the sun itself was sinking into her skin and spreading through her body, and her world narrowed to the feeling of heat and Castiel moving inside of her.

She snaked her hands between their bodies as Castiel’s movements became faster and more erratic. Turning her head, she looked into the fire as she came, the sound of her moans rising above even the crackling sound of the wood, the light temporarily clouding out her vision until all she saw was the glow of the fire before her and the swollen, shining moon above her as her body hummed. Castiel followed her a moment after, his teeth tightening against her skin and his groan of pleasure muffled by her neck. Eyes squeezed shut, she gasped, feeling blood well up under his pointed teeth before he released his grip on her.

Meg could feel dirt clinging to her back and hair, but she ignored it for the moment, clinging to her dragon and drinking in the warmth still pouring off his body. Castiel laid over her, keeping his weight on his elbows as he pressed soft, quick kisses to her neck and face, pausing at her shoulder to run his tongue over the still-bleeding wound he had left there until she pushed him gently to force him off of her.

“You might not be a dragon right now, but you’re still heavy,” she grunted. “Get off.”

Instead, he grabbed her and rolled them over so she was lying on his chest, their legs tangled together. He continued to nuzzle her, dragon-like noises pouring from his throat. He locked his arms around her when she tried to pull away, holding her to his chest possessively.

“There’s dirt in my hair,” she complained. “Castiel, I’m sticky _and there is dirt in my hair.”_

“There’s been worse in your hair,” he pointed out. Meg looked at him and shook her head. Despite the warmth of his body, she shivered. “You’re cold?”

“What do you think?”

He smiled and rose, taking Meg with him. Her thighs felt sticky, and she wrinkled her nose at the added wetness slowly dribbling down them. He scooped her back into his arms and carried her to the pool, sinking down into the water with Meg in his lap. She shivered and settled back against the warmth of his body, clinging to him by his neck.

Drowsy, Meg let Castiel wash her, leaning into his touch. He hummed as he did, helping her from the pool and leading her back toward the fire once they were both free of the dirt and mud clinging to their bodies.

He insisted on cuddling again when he tucked the blanket around her after they slipped into their makeshift bed. Meg let him, too tired to protest. He kissed her again before he settled back behind her, rubbing small circles on her stomach with the tips of his fingers before he pressed his hand against her belly, not quite as possessive as he had been before, but still clinging to her, as if afraid that she would try to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere, so just go to sleep,” she grumbled. He moved her hair away from her neck and pressed a kiss to the healing wound on her shoulder.

“You are very beautiful,” he whispered against her skin. Meg rolled her eyes.

“You’re not half bad yourself. Now go to sleep.”

Tightening his arms around her, Castiel obeyed.

 


	6. Chapter 6

He was gone when she awoke the next morning.

Wrapping herself in one of the clumsily made blankets from their makeshift bed, Meg wandered out of the cave, blinking in the bright sunlight. Growling when she realized that she’d slept half the morning away, she looked for her dragon, smiling when she saw him sitting near the cow with the jeweled goblet in his hand, dressed in only a pair of short, loose pants.

He smiled and offered her the goblet. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” She drank, watching Castiel stare at her as she did. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Your hair is tangled,” he said. “Sit.”

He padded away, returning with her brush, and settled down behind her, his legs splayed out on either side of her body. She sat still, allowing him to groom her as she drank her breakfast.

“Is this a dragon thing?” she asked. “The grooming?”

“I think so,” he answered. “I’ve never met a female dragon, so I cannot say for sure, but many species groom their mates.”

“What, there aren’t any small, scaled Castiels running around?” she teased, ignoring the last part of his sentence.

“No. I’ve never met another male dragon, either, now that I think about it.” He kissed the back of her head and continued brushing her hair. “I suppose they really are extinct.” He set the brush aside and gently gripped her shoulder with his teeth.

She shook him off. “Is that a dragon thing, too?”

“If I recall, you bit me quite a bit last night,” he pointed out. “So I think that may be a human thing.”

“Not as much as you bit me, but does it really look that bad?” she asked. The pool of water was too muddy for her to see her reflection, and so far she had not found an intact mirror in Castiel’s collection.

“There are a few marks,” he answered. “But it is not so bad.” He worked his hand under her blanket to stroke at her bare skin, smiling against her hair when Meg wriggled at his touch. He kissed her neck softly. “Get dressed. We need to feed the fire, and there are plants for us to harvest, and other chores to do.”

“Do I need a shirt, too, or are you gonna blush again?”

“Bring the shirt to carry them,” he suggested. “I like looking at you.”

Meg laughed and picked herself up off the ground, reaching for the clothes draped over the branches before she padded toward the cave to return the blanket.

 _I’m laughing a lot lately for someone with a dead family,_ she mused, stripping off the blanket and throwing it on top of the cushions. She frowned when she saw the bite marks peppering her breasts and belly, and her legs throbbed in protest when she lifted them to put on her pants. Her whole body felt sluggish and sore. _Well, it has been a while._

Castiel kept touching her as they worked, her chores going twice as fast now that he actually had hands to help her. He brushed his fingers against her skin every chance he got, gripped her hand while they made their way down the slope together, and leaned over to randomly kiss her lips or cheeks every few minutes.

She figured it was a dragon thing or that, having gone without human contact for so long, he was simply making up for lost time. So she let him shower affection on her, let him fuss and pet and kiss whenever he liked. In truth, she found it amusing and almost endearing. Her father had been a good man, but he had not been open with his affection. Hugs were never freely given with Azazel Masters, and she could not recall her Uncle Alastair ever embracing her. Even her brother, Tom, had grown more distant the older they grew. The last time she had embraced him before they had been jailed was when he’d told her about Hael’s pregnancy. He’d beamed at her, his smile seemingly too large for his face and his dark eyes shining as he’d embraced her, happier than she had ever seen him.

She knew that it would quickly become annoying if he kept at it. But then she remembered that they only had one more day together and her heart sank in her chest. When the moon fell the following night, he would turn a dragon once more, and a few nights after that, when he had regained his strength, she would have to go to Crowley.

She couldn’t take Castiel with her, not permanently, not like he was. Keeping a dragon at court would make her feared, true, and he would either secure her rule or neighboring kingdoms, seeing her as a threat with the beast, would seek to destroy her. Others might take it upon themselves to try to slay him, and once he turned human, their task would easily be accomplished.

If it got out that she’d taken a dragon for a lover before he was cured, even if he had been human at the time, the results could be equally as catastrophic. Placing her hand on her belly, Meg cursed.

“Something wrong?” Castiel asked, walking up behind her and putting his hands over hers.

She shook her head. “I need to go back up the hill. I forgot something.” She’d seen the right plant growing near the water, and all she needed to do to keep a scaled, half-dragon abomination from growing inside of her was make some tea. No one would ever have to know.

_I flew. But no one will ever know that, either._

_._

She was humming again while they added more wood to the fire later that evening. Kneeling next to the flames, Meg leaned into Castiel’s touch when he settled down next to her and stared into the fire.

“That’s a pretty tune,” he commented. “Do you sing?”

“I can’t carry a tune,” she told him. “But humming is something everyone can do. It’s a song they play for dancing. Do you dance?”

“Not as well as you do, I expect,” he said. “We danced some in my village, and I danced with Ruby once when we were courting. But I imagine your dances are more complicated.”

Meg nodded. “I had a dance instructor when I was younger. It took me months to learn everything, and even then it took me a long time to get good at them. I was so excited during my birthday celebration, because I’d finally gotten really good at this one dance. But then Crowley happened.”

“He attacked you on your birthday?” Castiel asked. “How old _are_ you?”

“Eighteen,” she answered casually. “Why, how old are you?”

He shrugged. “I don’t remember. It has been a long time. I was twenty-four when I was cursed, but I have lost track of the years. Dancing has to have evolved since then.”

Meg laughed. “I never studied the history of dance, Castiel. So I couldn’t tell you.”

He stood up suddenly and pulled Meg to her feet. “Show me.”

“What?”

“Teach me one of your dances,” he requested.

“You need more people for all the ones I know,” Meg protested. But he looked at her, his eyes widening and seeming even bluer in the firelight, and she relented. “Alright, back up a bit, and bow.”

He obeyed, bowing clumsily. Meg smothered another laugh and dipped into a curtsey, knowing that she looked foolish doing it in short, loose pants instead of a skirt. But Castiel didn’t laugh at her. Instead, he stared at her in concentration, studying her movements.

“Now, we walk toward each other. Hold out your hand, like this,” she ordered, raising her right hand, her fingers slightly splayed. He mimicked her, his eyes focused on her hand when she brought their palms together. Unused to leading, she fumbled through the first few turns without a partner, demonstrating the movements. Growling slightly in frustration, she began to hum again, and then whistle. The music guided her, and by the time they came together again, she moved smoothly, gliding over the rocky ground as easily as if it were the feast hall back home.

Castiel’s movements grew more and more confident, and when they went through the steps a third time, he lifted Meg and spun her as if she was no lighter than a feather, laughing as he did so. She waited for him to put her down so they could move through the formal steps again, but he kept spinning her instead, adjusting his grip so Meg was facing him and he could lift her above his head.

She squealed in protest, her hands flying to his shoulders to keep her balanced until Castiel put her down again. He smiled at her, mischief sparkling in his eyes, and wrapped one arm around her waist, yanking her close to his body. His other hand slid up her arm to tangle their fingers together and then, whistling a jaunty tune, he pulled her into another dance.

Unfamiliar with the steps, Meg let him lead, laughing as he whirled her around the fire, spinning her and keeping their chests pressed together. She adjusted to the short, jaunty steps and let Castiel spin her around under his arm, her hand raised above her head and holding onto his for balance, until she was dizzy and out of breath.

“Is this how you danced back in your village?” she asked breathlessly as Castiel led her around the fire again. He nodded, moving his hands to her waist so he could pick her up and twirl her again. Instead of letting him lower her to the ground, Meg wrapped her legs around his waist and slid her arms around his neck to press their foreheads together.

“Did you know that dancing gets the blood heated?” she asked, feeling his chest heave against hers.

“Really?” he asked. Meg smirked when his eyes dropped to her lips and she felt his cock pressing against her through the thin material of his pants.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “That’s why all our dances are so formal and there’s almost no touching, not like yours.”

She kissed him before he could say anything, rubbing herself against his skin. Castiel ran his hands up her clothed legs to knead her bottom and keep her pressed against him, easily supporting her weight. Meg pulled away and smiled, untangling her legs. “I’ll race you back to--”

Castiel cut off her teasing by bending downward, wrapping his arms about her knees, and flinging Meg over his shoulder. “I’ll walk you.”

“Caveman,” she teased. Castiel playfully smacked her rear, drawing out a soft squeal from her throat before she reached down to return the favor, laughing.

.

Wrapped up in the blankets on their makeshift bed, Meg hummed and threaded her fingers through Castiel’s hair. He sighed happily from where he was lying with his head in her lap and closed his eyes. Drowsy from a repeat of the previous night, Meg laid against the pile of clothed she’d worked into a pillow and tilted her head down to look at him.

“Hey, Cas, you still awake?” she asked softly. He grunted. “Hey, I got a question.”

“Yes, Meg?”

“You ever thought about trying to break your curse?”

His eyes opened and he rose from her lap. The blanket fell away from his naked body, and he quickly wrapped it back around his shoulders for warmth. Tucking another one in around her, he frowned.

“As far as I know, it can’t be broken,” he said. “In all the stories, a kiss is what breaks a curse. Only you and I have kissed many times, and I feel no different. When I first transformed, I had hoped that the curse would break if you kissed me, and when you did, I thought for a moment that it had. But the dragon is still in me, waiting to rip through my skin with the sunrise. I can feel it.”

Meg groaned. That was why he had looked so disappointed the first time they’d kissed. He’d been expecting it to break his curse, like the frog that turned into a prince or the sleeping princess being pulled from a death-like sleep.

The trouble was, this was real life, not a fairy tale where true love’s kiss was the solution to all their problems.

“Another witch could undo it, though,” she said slowly. “At least, I think so. You probably know more about witches than me.”

“Unlikely. I courted a witch, yes, but all I know are the stories every child hears while growing up,” he pointed out. “Did you not have books in the castle about this subject?”

“A few,” Meg replied. “My brother was more knowledgeable about it than me. He thought witchcraft was funny. I know a little about village witchcraft, but the women who practice that are mostly travelling healers and such. They sell salves for aches and pains, sometimes help with birthing, and maybe make a love potion here and there. Nothing to worry about and nothing that could break this curse. Maybe if we knew how Ruby did it.”

He shook his head sadly. “I don’t know. When I told her I wanted to end our courtship, she asked for a last kiss, and I thought it a reasonable request, so I gave it to her. After that, she smiled at me every time she saw me, but not like she used to. Her smile was… _triumphant,_ almost. Then the full moon came, and I felt… different. When the sun rose at the end of those three days, I changed. She stood and laughed at me while everyone else in the village fled, even my own parents. I devoured her and left before they could kill me.”

“But if we could break it, would you want to?” Meg pressed.

“Of course,” he said. “I would miss flying, but to be a human again…” A distant look came to his eyes, and Meg was not sure if he was imagining his future or thinking of his former life. “But it cannot be done.”

“Come back with me,” she blurted. “We can find a way to break it. Someone has to know how. There has to be a witch around that would help us.”

“Stay here with me,” he argued. “Don’t go back there to die.”

“I have to go,” she said quietly. “Clarence, you got your revenge on Ruby for what she did to you. I have to get my revenge on Crowley.”

“If you stay here, no one will harm you,” he promised. “You and I can spend our days together, flying and hunting and gathering. We can live quietly. It would not be a bad life, merely a simple and peaceful one. Once a month I will change back into a human, and we can be like this always.”

“And I’ll age and die and you’ll still be a dragon, and Crowley will still have killed my family,” she grumbled. “I _have_ to go back. There has to be someone who doesn’t want him ruling. There are always people unhappy with how things are. That’s how he gathered followers to attack us in the first place. There are probably people unhappy with Crowley. I could take up with them. They might not have been happy with Azazel, either, but I doubt they were happy seeing a young girl locked up in a cage and left to die of heat and dehydration. Uncle Alastair was right when he said that it _is_ best to keep your cruelty a secret. Or at least keep it out of sight of the general populace.”

“I don’t understand.”

Meg rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow to look at him. He mirrored her movements. “My uncle was in charge of… _interrogating_ prisoners,” she said slowly, carefully choosing each word. “Crowley attacked at my birthday party. I had just come of age, and would be free to do whatever duty my father assigned to me. My uncle was getting old and needed help with some of the larger tools. I began apprenticing with him when I was fifteen. When my father caught me with my kitchen boy, he told me that if I was old enough to decide who I went to bed with then I was grown up enough to begin training for my future career.

“The women in my family aren’t expected to be nice little girls who sing and embroider. We learn that, too, of course, for appearances, and because it is useful, and fun in a way. But before my mother passed away, she was the one who helped my uncle.” Meg laughed. “My father always said that women were the best at it, because the male prisoners wouldn’t expect a woman, and the female ones would speak to us with less _encouragement_ , we’ll call it. They were more comfortable with us than they were a man. I wiggled a lot of secrets out down in the dungeon, but we never caught wind of Crowley’s plot.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “I felt useful, like I was doing something for my father. And honored. I even liked it, after a while. Not everyone has the stomach to work down there, you know.” When she closed her eyes, she could almost see her uncle’s prematurely aged face as he stood beside her, his hand over hers as she gripped a knife, instructing her on the proper way to cut into someone. She could almost see his strange, pale eyes glimmering with pride as she improved, could almost see the pleased look on her father’s face and the pleasure that filled his pale, yellow eyes when he learned how fast she was advancing through her training.

Castiel grumbled. “I wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“Clarence, I watched you eat a man.”

“That was in self-defense,” he pointed out.

“His lower half wasn’t.”

Castiel laughed. “Alright, I see your point. The old me never would have been able to do that. But I am more dragon than human now. I have found a balance between the human and the beast, yes, but there are times, especially when I’m in that form, that I cannot control it. I believe that is the only reason I did not devour you, at first. We’re instinctively drawn to beautiful women.”

“Then you do think I’m pretty,” she taunted.

His face screwed up in confusion. “That is what I just said.”

She laughed again. “You know, this is really not how I imagined my life going. Cuddling and talking with a dragon in a cave is just something you never think will happen.”

“We could do it every night if you stayed, you know.”

Meg rolled over onto her back. “And we could do it every night if we cured you and you came back with me. We’re going in circles, Clarence. Are you coming with me, or are you staying here?”

She rolled away from him when he didn’t answer. After a moment, Meg felt his arms slide around her and he kissed her bare shoulder. “We can try to break the curse. I will come with you.”

She turned back around and kissed him on the mouth. “Good. We’ll wait a few days, build up your strength, and then we’ll figure out what we need to do.”

“We can start the day after tomorrow,” he promised. “We have one more day with me in human form. We should make the most of it while we can.”

Meg grinned. “You sure got dirty real fast, Castiel.”

.

They spent the next day in bed, leaving the cave only to take a quick dip in the pool and milk the cow. They both decided that they’d roast it for a late supper after he transformed back into a dragon.

She was sore and starving by the time the sun set, unable to stand to make it to the bushes without her legs wobbling. No longer embarrassed, she let Castiel carry her to the bushes and back to bed, where he simply curled himself around her. No matter how many times she forced him into the pool, he still smelled of smoke, and she suspected that he always would while in human form. But now she found that that smell was familiar, almost comforting, and she pressed her face against his chest and inhaled.

“Can you smell me?” she asked softly, dozing beside him on their makeshift bed.

“While as a dragon, yes,” he told her. “I have a better sense of smell than an ordinary human, but it is not as good as when I am a dragon.” He leaned over and sniffed her neck. “You smell like the bushes, like dirt, and you smell salty like sweat, or the ocean. Fresh and earthy.”

“You’ve been to the ocean?”

“A handful of times. The flight takes a while. Almost the whole day.”

“Not so far,” Meg argued. “The ocean is only a few days ride from the castle. We would go there when I was a kid whenever my father decided he needed time away from us. I used to think that if I swam out far enough I would fall off the edge of the world.”

“Meg, that’s absurd.”

“I was a kid,” she huffed. When she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the salt air, could almost feel the sand between her toes. Suddenly, his words hit her. “Wait, you said the ocean was almost a day’s flight from here.”

“Yes, so?”

“And I just said the ocean is a few days ride from the castle. Castiel, the journey here only took maybe half a day. Don’t you see? You _do_ know where my castle is! Or, at least, I do!” She sat up, a sudden burst of energy running through her body. “Clarence, this is--Castiel, are you alright?”

She looked over and saw that Castiel had curled into a ball, clutching his head. She wiggled her hands under his arms to press her palm against his forehead, wincing when she felt how hot he was. She was used to him being warmer than a normal man, but his skin had gone past that, rocketing into high fever territory. Her hand almost burned.

“It’s starting,” he breathed. “The sun will rise soon. I need to be outside, or I will crush you when I transform. I would rather you didn't watch me. It can be very messy. We will talk more about your plan tomorrow.”

Despite how hot he was, Castiel still shivered, and Meg wrapped him in his old, ratty blanket before she allowed him outside. Despite his request, she followed him onto the cliff, her own blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She settled herself by the dying fire and watched him crouch on the ground, facing the sunrise.

The first few fingers of dawn began to creep over the land. Keeping her eyes away from her dragon, Meg watched as pinks and purples began to smear themselves across the inky blue sky.

Castiel screamed.

Meg kept her eyes trained on the sky until he pushed his blanket off his shoulders and kicked it away from him. His whole body arched like a bowstring, and even from her place by the fire she could see gooseflesh covering his body and his veins nearly bulging from his skin. She flinched as a tearing sound came from his body, and she saw strips of flesh fall from his back and arms, exposing muscles and tendons to the air for a moment before she saw something black begin to form over his exposed flesh.

 _His scales,_ she realized, horrified. _That’s how his scales grow._

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, unable to watch. She’d done worse down in her father’s dungeons, had skinned people alive and fed them their own flesh, had laughed while she sawed off limbs and fingers and toes, had burned, beaten, and broken more people than she could count.

But just hearing Castiel’s screams was somehow worse than all of the things she’d seen and done down in the torch lit halls beneath the castle with her uncle standing over her.

When she opened her eyes again, Castiel was writhing on the ground as his tail grew and his arms and legs thickened. A strange smacking noise echoed through the dawn, like overripe melons being dropped on the stones in castle kitchens, and when she saw his head she realized they were his horns emerging through his flesh.

His blood soaked the rocky ground, great smears of it showing where he had moved his limbs through it as he writhed in agony. His tail, too large for his body, kicked up dust, and for a moment she lost sight of him. A strange smell rolled through the air, bringing the scent of rain and leaves to nose. But it was somehow sharper, wilder, and Meg found herself wanting to lean into it and recoil from it all at once.

 _Magic,_ she realized. _This is what magic smells like._

The fire died next to her, and the force of his stubby wings beating sent hot ashes flying at her face. She pulled the blanket over her head, coughing, and heard Castiel give a final, human scream of pain before it changed into a dragon’s roar. She stayed under the blanket even after it faded, moving it away from her face only when she felt Castiel’s snout nudge against the fabric.

“I asked you not to watch,” he said quietly. “You’re covered in ash.”

“You do that every month?” she asked. He nodded at her and fell to the ground, breathing hard. “Is it always like that?” Castiel nodded again, his eyes drifting closed.

“My strength will return in a few moments,” he promised. “Go and bathe. We will eat afterward, and begin planning.”

Meg stood, using his large snout to steady herself. “We can start tomorrow.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

“So, this is what it looks like from the air, I think,” Meg said, throwing down the stick she had been using to draw a picture of her home in the dust. She wiped her hands. “I was a little out of it when you carried me off.”

“That looks about right.”

“I know where all the weak points are from the ground,” Meg continued. “We don’t want to burn too much down. We do have to live there, after all. But if they have trebuchets we definitely need to burn them. According to the stories, a dragon’s scales are one of the hardest substances on earth, but I don’t doubt that even they could be smashed by a rock going that fast. He will have archers, and swords around him. If he’s taken a wife, we’ll have to kill her, too. There hasn’t been enough time for an heir to be born, but he’s had plenty of time to plant one in some unlucky lady.”

“How do you even know you have supporters in this?” Castiel asked.

“I _am_ the rightful heir,” Meg said. “Crowley is nothing but a leech, and those who followed him are leeches as well. You did not see the faces in the crowd the day I was put into that cage. I did. You did not hear them cheering for my father’s death. There were a few people who truly meant it when they cried for my father and brother to die. But most did not. I could hear it in their voices, or in the way they kept silent altogether. They were simply afraid.

“My father was not the best king. But he kept us all together, kept the kingdom fed and watered and running smoothly. And my ancestor, Lucifer, was a hero to the people. When Azazel’s daughter and Lucifer’s blood descends from the sky, mounted on the back of a dragon, they will flock to me. You’ll see.”

“I do not mean to offend, but would they accept a woman ruling over them instead of a man?” Castiel asked. “It has been a long time since I was human, but back when I lived in my village, it was not done.”

“It’s been done before,” Meg explained. “My ancestor, Abaddon, was a warrior queen, who ruled over her kingdom for fifty years, not even turning it over to her son, the first Azazel, when he came of age. The stories all say that her husband, Cain, died on the battlefield, and that she picked up his blade and continued fighting. When the battle was won, she took the crown, saying that others had no right to rule through her infant son. Her husband’s mistress, Colette, also had a son by the former king. Abaddon kept them around, and they raised their children together, and were great friends until they were old and gray. Or so the stories say.”

“That’s just a story,” Castiel argued. “Romanticized, surely.”

“Her portrait hangs in the hallway leading to the throne room, along with the other portraits of our former kings and queens,” Meg continued. “There have been others as well. There was Queen Lilith, who my mother was named for, who ruled until her son came of age, then of course there was Queen Ellen, and her daughter, Queen Joanna, who married my ancestor, Lucifer the Dragonslayer, and got the Masters name the crown.

“Queen Ellen ruled for years on her own before Lucifer came along. Her husband died in a hunting accident when they were newly married, before Joanna was even born. When Lucifer slew the dragon terrorizing the land, Ellen was only going to reward him with his own castle and income, but her daughter screamed and shouted and demanded that she be allowed to marry him. Apparently she was so moved by his display of courage in saving the kingdom that she fell in love with him. _That’s_ probably the romanticized version. Regardless, according to all the history books, Jo was the ruling power, not Lucifer, since he was born a peasant.”

“We should still be sure,” he said slowly. “Is there no way you can talk to the peasants before we attack?”

“Landing right in the middle of a village would be stupidity,” she argued. “Someone would alert Crowley, and we’d lose our surprise. I say we burn them all before he has a chance to fight back.”

“Is there somewhere we could hide?”

Nodding, Meg picked up the stick again and clumsily drew a few trees near the back of the castle. “There’s a forest here. My father hunted there with my uncle when he was a child. Tom went with father a few times, too. I was content with the bloodshed in my dungeon. But the woods are large enough to hide in, even for you. There are caves. Not as big as this, of course, but big enough to shelter us. It may be a risk, hiding so close, but it’s probably our best option. But the woods are so big that I don’t think Crowley would find us if we only hid in there for a day or two.”

“A town?” he pressed. Meg nodded again and pointed with her stick.

“Just beyond the forest there is a small village. Maybe a day’s ride from the castle. Why?”

“Wear something with a hood. Slip into town with some sort of excuse, to drink or find some clothing, and listen. People talk, living that close to their rulers. They should not, of course, because people always listen. But they do. Find out what you can. If they are truly displeased with Crowley, we will know. You assure me that there would be no problem with you ruling the kingdom as the only queen. So the only thing we need to know is if they truly want Crowley gone.”

Meg smiled and scratched under his chin. “You’re pretty smart for a peasant.”

He glared at her. “We just need to be careful, Meg. My own recklessness cost me my human life and gave me this form. I have learned since then.”

“Yeah, well, I’m personally glad that it did. If you hadn’t screwed up like that, my body would be on display with my father and brother’s.”

“I’m glad it worked out for you,” he said dryly. She kept scratching at his chin.

“Oh, come on. It isn’t all bad. If you weren’t a dragon, you’d probably be dead. Your witch would’ve killed you, or you’d have lost all your hair and fallen over and died in a muddy field. We kill Crowley, and you’ll live like a king.” She bared her teeth at him in a savage smile. “Because you’ll be one.”

Shocked, he got to his feet. “What?”

Meg raised her eyebrows at him. “Well, I never expected _that_ reaction to a proposal.”

“Meg, you cannot mean--I am a dragon! I am a peasant!”

“You rescued me,” she pointed out. “When we kill Crowley, I’ll give you his lands, gold, and titles. If we take what you have in that cave and add it to Crowley’s money, you’ll be richer than anyone. It would be stupid to let an opportunity like that slip through my fingers. Besides, you called me your _mate.”_ Her nose wrinkled at the word, and Meg turned her head and spat. “If you don’t wanna marry me, fine. But, as much as I hate the idea, I am gonna need to pop out a kid as fast as I can to secure my throne, and I don’t have time to beat off a bunch of suitors. Besides, that way I won’t be a queen ruling by herself. I don’t think I’d have much trouble with it, anyway, but it would be easier if I had a spouse. You help me take down this smarmy dick, and the peasants will look at us like Queen Joanna and Lucifer the Dragonslayer come again. Except, you know, without you actually killing a dragon. It’ll be like something right out of a fairy tale. Who knows, in a few hundred years maybe we’ll be a story parents tell their children to put them to sleep.”

He was quiet for a moment before he settled back on the ground, his eyes sparkling. “Yes. I would like to be your husband, should we break the curse. But how will we get the gold back? There is quite a lot of it.”

“Could you carry it all?” Meg asked. “I mean, it wouldn’t weigh too much?”

“I think I could lift that much, although it would make the flight longer, and we’d have to touch down several times for me to rest. But how would we transport it? I’ve accumulated quite a bit of gold over the years, and I can’t imagine you making sacks to fit all of it.”

Meg pointed to the carriage. “Some tinkering and we should be able to seal it up. There’s plenty of wood down in the woods, and with some improvising, I can make some tools. We’ll have to leave most of the swords, but I think I can pry the gems themselves out of the hilts. We can hide it in the woods until the fighting is over, then go back for it.”

“So, that is our plan?”

She nodded. “That’s the plan, Clarence. We live, we find a way to break the curse and have a wedding. If we die, we die. But at least we go down fighting.” Taking a deep breath, Meg looked him in the eyes. “I want Crowley alive, if we can get him. You eat him or burn him only if there is no other way. I want to _feel_ him die under my hands.”

Castiel kept his gaze trained on hers. “As you wish.”

.

Their final day in his lair dawned warm and bright. Personally, Castiel thought that it should be raining. It was a triumphant day for Meg, the day she would return to her kingdom and begin her plan to kill Crowley, but he had mixed feelings. He was eager to see her happy, and eager to break his curse, but he still felt some sadness at leaving the place that had been his home for decades. He knew that, most likely, he would never see it again.

Half a stallion lay baking in the sun. They’d gorged themselves on food for several days, and Castiel had watched as Meg tried to make jerky from several of their meals. Finally, when they were too full to eat anything else and she’d packed away her few successful attempts, they’d simply left their meal there for the scavengers. They would not be returning, after all.

“Ready to go?” Meg asked softly. Castiel turned his head and saw her emerge from the cave, a makeshift purse clinging to her hip, her knife and the would be dragon slayer’s sword dangling from the other. She still wore the loose, short pants and yellow shirt, but carried the one gown she’d saved and a hooded cloak. Bundling the red and black material together, she stuffed it in another sack slung over her back and smiled at him.

“Yes.” They’d spent several days moving his gold into the carriage and sealing it so it would not break under the weight and none of the treasure would fall out. They’d eaten, and Meg, in what he thought was a touch of sentimentality, had made the bed they’d shared, smoothing the clumsily-made blankets over the cushions. It was time.

Lowering himself to the ground, Castiel stretched his neck out for Meg. She scrambled up his paw and onto his back, sliding along until she was mounted comfortably and could wrap her hands around his horns. She shifted so her bundle was slung across her breasts instead of her back, and laughed when he looked at her and tilted her head to the side.

“The ride’ll take longer with all that added weight and I’ll need to reach my snacks,” she explained, patting the bundle. Even though it was inside the bag, he could still smell her jerky. “They don’t taste great, but it’s something. I don’t think I’ll get to eat again until we reach town.”

Castiel nodded and looked away from her, taking one last look at the place that had been his home for decades before he turned his face toward the sky and spread his wings. If he was lucky, if Meg survived and they found a way to break his curse, this would be his final flight away from his lair.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered softly. Without looking to see if Meg had done what she was told, he took to the air, his wings sending up clouds of ash and dust and making small stones roll down the side of the mountain. He dipped back to the earth for a moment, grabbing the gold-filled carriage in his great paws, and flew away without looking back.

 


	8. Chapter 8

It was dark when they touched down.

The moon was a sliver in the sky, and the heavy canopy of leaves made it impossible for what little light there was to reach the forest floor. Shivering, Meg clung to his neck as Castiel walked them under the trees, pushing the gold-filled carriage in front of him. He could see well enough in what little light they had, she knew, and could no doubt smell his way around as well.

“There is a cave here,” he rumbled. “Big enough for me to sit in, it looks like. Shall we rest here? Or are we too close to town?”

“Here’s fine,” she whispered. “Push the carriage in first. We’ll have to cover it with mud and branches. Don’t want someone making off with the gold that’s gonna pay for our wedding.”

Castiel snorted, sending streams of smoke billowing upward. Meg smacked his neck, and then fell forward against his scales when he shoved the carriage in ahead of him.

“Is it too late for you to go to the tavern?” he asked. Meg shook her head.

“I saw lights on when we were flying above it. There are people in there, drinking and whoring, probably, but I might be able to find something out.”

“Will you be safe?”

She raised her eyebrows at the dragon and patted the knife at her hip. “I should be fine.” Stripping out of her short pants and oversized yellowed shirt, she pulled her old shift over her head, the stained material settling against her skin in a familiar way. Next, she donned the only gown she had saved from the carriage, a soft, lacy monstrosity made of red material. It was smaller than the others had been, and clearly meant for another woman. It was a little tight on Meg, but she could breathe easy enough. And, she had told Castiel, a bit of cleavage never hurt when you were trying to loosen a man’s tongue.

Last, she pulled her hooded cloak over her shoulders and fastened it around her throat. Warmth immediately settled over her body, and she stopped shivering. There was nothing to be done about the sorry, windblown state of her hair, or how she suspected that she smelled, however. Water alone could only do so much, and Meg knew that she most likely smelled of smoke from being so close to the dragon.

But, she also knew that the peasants didn’t smell like roses, either. If anything, the stink might help her blend in.

“I should come with you to the tree line,” Castiel suggested. “To make sure you’ll be safe. If you call me, I will hear you, and I will come for you.”

“If you like,” Meg answered casually. She turned on her heel and began to walk through the woods, lifting her skirts so they would not catch on the roots and thorns blocking her path. Her father’s voice came into her head, and Meg found herself straightening her spine and thrusting back her shoulders just as she had when her father had been teaching her how to hold herself like a queen.

The village was mostly silent when Meg left the safety of the trees and her dragon. But the sound of chatter floated toward her from the tavern’s open door, and she could see a few candles burning in the windows of almost every home, despite the fact that the moon rose high above them. _Mourning,_ she thought. _Or maybe prayer. Either way, that’s a good sign. There’s nothing to pray for this late when things are going well._

She slipped into the tavern, leaving her hood up in case someone recognized her. She did not think the peasants would. She had never been to the small village before, after all. But Crowley’s men could there, drinking or dicing or simply having a late meal, and every one of them had been at her execution and seen her dying in her cage.

The black-haired woman behind the bar looked her up and down, but said nothing about her appearance. _Good,_ Meg thought. _She knows better than to ask questions._

“You need anythin’?” the woman asked. Meg studied her. She knew the tavern owner’s wife by sight, although she had never seen her. Tom had talked of her beauty often, and several of his friends had boasted of trying to bed her, claiming that her graying husband was far too old to satisfy his young wife. Tom had put a stop to that. She loved her husband, he had said.

“Some food,” Meg answered. “Anything but horse. And wine, if you have it.” After her time with Castiel, she would be glad to never eat horse again.

“I’ll bring you chicken. And the wine.”

Meg nodded, collected her food, and settled herself in a corner near a group of men talking quietly over their food and drink. The chicken was stringy and the wine was more water than anything, but she gulped it down anyway, savoring the taste of something besides water or milk.

Huddled in the corner, she kept her ears open. The men behind her were well into their cups, and despite their attempts at quiet, their conversation floated toward her.

“If he raises the taxes any higher, we won’t make it through the winter,” one was saying. “We’re already struggling to eat.”

“Jess is worried,” said another. “She’s scared that our kid won’t make it through the winter.”

“She’ll grieve, but move on,” said a third. “They always take the first one the hardest. Put another baby in her belly and she’ll forget all about the first one when she has another one to care for.”

“That’s not the point!” argued the first man. “At least with Azazel up there, we could feed ourselves!”

“If the gods are good, someone will take care of Crowley like they did with him,” the third man said.

 _The gods are seldom good,_ Meg thought. _But you might be in luck today._

“The gods are seldom good,” the second man said sourly. Meg glanced behind her and saw him drink deeply from his cup.

The woman wandered over and slammed her hands down on the table. “I’ll have none of that here,” she hissed in a low voice. “Not while there are ears. Drink or get out.”

Sure enough, several men glared over at the corner and shuffled out the door, no doubt to report to Crowley. Others rose and settled themselves as far away from the group as possible. Not one of them spared her a glance, too focused on the half-drunk men speaking ill of the king behind her.

“How many times do I have to tell you? _Upstairs_ with that kind of talk,” the woman ordered.

The first man chuckled. “Alright, Casey. I got it.”

“Wipe that look off your face, Dean Winchester! I’m sure your wife would love to hear that you were flirting with me.”

This time the man laughed. “We’re already raising one bastard of mine, Casey. I doubt she’d be surprised if another turned up.”

“That’s your fault, not mine. Now, upstairs.”

Muttering, the woman returned to her spot behind the bar. Meg, abandoning her meal, crept up the stairs after the group of men. There were more of them on the second floor, crowded around a large table with a map spread out on it. Peering around the corner, she watched the group greet the three men and move aside so they could take their places around the map. All their clothes were worn but lovingly patched, and many of them wore beards. Some were old, but most of them were younger men, and most of them were clean-shaven. Her heart dropped to her stomach when she recognized one man in particular.

The clean-shaven guard who had tried to slip her poison was there. Tall and lanky, he stood and hugged the man that Casey had called Dean Winchester, a smile on his face. “Good to see ya, brother.”

Dean briefly hugged him back. “Glad you got away from that lunatic.”

The guard shrugged. “After what happened with the princess, he’s not too keen on me. He still thinks that we should’ve tried harder to strip her down. And since that other bearded bastard fell off the wall and died, he’s suspicious.”

Meg smiled when she heard that. The fact that the bearded guard who had tried to strip her on her execution day was dead was good news. She suspected that the clean-shaven guard had been the one to make sure he ended up dead at the foot of the wall.

“Enough chit-chat,” said the older man from downstairs. “We all just stand around and talk. We gotta do _something.”_

“What do you want us to do?” the other man from downstairs asked. “Just march in there and kill him?”

“I’m not talkin’ suicide,” the older man growled. “But we need to do something before winter sets in and we’re all starving in our beds.”

“As far as we know, everyone’s too scared to rebel against Crowley. He managed to take down the royal family without there being so much as a whisper of it, and we’ve all seen the bodies of dissenters hanging off the wall,” Dean Winchester argued.

“Besides, we kill Crowley, what then?” the other young man from downstairs added. Meg glanced around the corner and saw that he was taller and broader than the other two, with long, brown hair falling unbound around his shoulders. “Who do we stick on the throne? Us? We don’t know anything about ruling.”

“Crowley does in his own way, I’ll give him that,” the older man spat. “I hate to say it, but Azazel was better than this.”

“If Tom had escaped…”

“But he didn’t,” the clean-shaven guard interrupted. “There was no way to get them out.”

“Well, we need someone on the throne. There must be distant relatives. We could contact one of them and--”

“That could take months. We don’t have months!” Dean snapped. “The people could rule.”

“The nobles would never allow it. Crowley’s people would take over, and the kingdom would be in the same position it is now. Only we’d be dead for treason,” the older man growled. “We need to find someone now.”

“But who?” Dean asked.

Meg smiled and straightened her back. A good entrance never hurt, she knew. Stepping through the doorway, she threw off her hood, shook her hair out, and smiled at the men. “Me.”

The men jumped to face her, hands going to their weapons, but the clean-shaven guard gasped and sank to his knees in front of her. “Princess.”

“In the flesh,” she said dryly. The other man lowered their weapons and stared at her with open mouths.

“How are you alive?” he asked. “I saw the dragon carry you off.”

Meg shrugged. “He carried me back. Now, tell me what your plans are.”

The guard gestured around the circle, introducing the men. Dean Winchester glared at her while his brother, Sam, gave her a small smile. Bobby, the other man who had been downstairs, simply looked her up and down. They appeared to be the leaders, so she focused on them. “And I am Garth,” the guard finished.

“You tried to slip me poison,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “There was no way out. I drugged your father and brother, too, but Crowley’s men arrived to take them before Tom could finish his.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, princess.”

“Not to spoil this happy reunion, but why would we want you up there?” Dean snarled. “You’re Azazel’s kid. You could be just as bad as him.”

“Azazel was a tyrant, but he held us all together,” argued the woman from downstairs. Stepping into the room, she nodded politely at Meg before turning to Dean. “She’s Azazel’s blood. By law the throne is hers.”

“It doesn’t matter. We still have no way to get in there and kill him. Crowley doesn’t give a rat’s ass about laws,” Dean pointed out. “If he cared, he wouldn’t have done what he did.”

“I can get us in there,” Meg and Garth said together. He gestured for her to continue, but Meg shook her head and told him to speak first.

“I can get the gates open,” Garth said. “There are people in there that’ll join us, if we can make it look like we’ll win.”

“Yeah, and how do we do that?” Sam asked. Meg smiled at him.

“I have the dragon.”

Cups clattered on the wooden floor as the men dropped them in shock, their mouths gaping open. Garth looked as though she had kicked him in the head, and she heard Bobby curse softly. Sam simply looked impressed.

“Explain,” Bobby demanded. Meg studied him, looking over his shaggy beard and shaggier clothes. Despite his appearance, the man had an air of intimidation around him that demanded respect, and she found herself obeying him without thinking about it.

“The dragon didn’t just carry me back,” she explained. “I _rode_ him back. He’s in the woods now, waiting for me to return. If I call for him, he will come. I could burn everything.” She strode to the table, nodding to Garth when he pulled a chair out for her. Leaning forward, she studied the map on the table. It was far better than her crude drawing in the dust, outlining the castle and the surrounding lands perfectly. “Not everyone supports Crowley?”

Sam shook his head. “No. There are a few inside the castle who do, but for now…”

“He has my mother,” blurted a young boy from the opposite end of the table. Meg looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

“Kevin Tran, right?” He nodded. “Okay, then we’ll get your mother. But first thing’s first: Does Crowley have a wife?” He nodded again.

“Her name is Cecily,” Garth offered. “No word yet on a baby.”

“Well, then we’ll have to kill her just in case,” Meg said casually. A few of the men gave her horrified stares, but most nodded. “We need to find a way to make sure we can get to Crowley, too. Otherwise, he’ll try to hide and escape. He’s not stupid enough to throw himself into battle, I’ll give him that.”

“I know how we can get him to come up,” Sam told her. “You might not like it, though.”

“Shouldn’t we see proof that she has a dragon first?” another man named Rufus interrupted. “No disrespect meant, of course, but how do we know it’s real?”

“Of course,” Meg said. Striding to the window, she opened it and leaned into the night. “Castiel!”

A moment later the sound of wings beating filled the small room. A thump followed, shaking the tavern and sending several men and Casey sprawling to the floor. One of Castiel’s large, blue eyes filled the open window. “Meg. Are you in danger?”

“No,” she told him. “They wanted proof that you were real.”

“Of course I am.”

Bobby whistled. “Damn. Well, that’s settled.”

Meg turned to Sam and smiled. “Now, what was that plan that I’m not going to like?”

.

“That’s it?” Castiel asked later when they were both safety in their cave. She’d declined every invitation she’d received for shelter, preferring to hide with only her dragon. The men seemed trustworthy enough, but she would not let carelessness get the better of her when she was so close to her goal. Instead, she would meet Sam at his home the next night to continue planning.

“That’s it,” she said grimly. “We’re lucky no one saw you. It was stupid of me to call you to the tavern.”

“I blend in with the dark,” he pointed out. “No one saw me except the ones inside that room.”

“We better hope they don’t go running to Crowley, otherwise we’re screwed.”

“If that happens, we leave,” he said firmly. “We go back to the lair and stay there. We can find some other way to break the curse, if you want, but we live there together, far from here.”

Meg closed her eyes and leaned back against his leg. “Alright.”

“I expected more of a fight.”

“Dying doesn’t sound so great anymore.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She made a small noise of agreement and bundled her cloak up, sticking it behind her head for a pillow. Castiel’s scales were hard under her back, but the warmth that poured off of him was worth the discomfort. Besides, it felt familiar to be near him now, and even the smell of smoke was one that gave her comfort.

“Will you miss being a dragon?” she blurted. Castiel shifted behind her, and suddenly Meg found herself on her back under him, looking up into his eyes. She could barely see them in the darkness, but they glowed.

“In some ways,” he said slowly. “I will miss the power, and I will miss being able to make fire on a whim. But I think the only thing I will truly miss will be flying.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, thinking of her second flight with him. If she concentrated, she could still feel the wind on her face and the heat of him between her thighs. “Yeah, that part is pretty wonderful.”

“But as a human, I will have a home again, and a family,” he said quietly. “I hope that will be worth flying.”

 _Yes,_ Meg thought. _I hope so, too._

.

She knocked on Sam’s door the next night, once again clad in her dark cloak. After the fourth knock, his voice floated through the door. “What did the barber say to the monkey?” he grumbled. Meg rolled her eyes, just as annoyed by the code as he was.

“That he was a hairy bastard. Do we really have to do this?”

“Just answer the question.”

Meg sighed. “Why, sir, you’re wearing a carpet on your back!”

Sam opened the door and ushered her inside. “Dean thinks he’s funny.”

“I am!” his brother bellowed from his seat at a table in the corner of the room. “No one would guess it!”

“Because no one likes the joke,” Meg said, taking off her cloak and handing it to Sam. She’d forgone her gown, instead pulling on her short pants and loose shirt. The younger Winchester raised his eyebrows when he saw her, but did not comment. _Wise of him._

“Have you eaten today?” he asked instead. “Jess and I have some soup left.”

“That would be great, thanks.”

Sam nodded and poked his head into the next room. “Hey, Jess, can you get a bowl?”

“I’ll get the soup, too,” Meg heard a feminine voice call back. “And don’t you dare say it’s too heavy.”

“The baby…” he protested.

Jess slipped around the corner, a bowl of steaming soup in her hand. “It won’t pop out because I carried the future queen a bowl of soup. This is a good story to tell the grandchildren, Sam. Let me have it.”

Meg stared at the woman who walked into the room. Her belly stretched out in front of her, pushing against the material of her white gown. Her hair was the color of butter and flowed down her back almost to her waist, and Meg bet that it shone in the sunlight. As she moved closer, Meg caught a strange smell pouring from her. It reminded her of rain and greenery, but it was somehow wilder, more aggressive.

_Magic._

Meg was sure of it. She’d smelled the same thing on Castiel the night he’d turned back into a dragon.

“You’re a witch,” she blurted as Jess bent to set the soup on the table. Both Sam and his wife froze, while Dean looked between them.

“Nah, that’s impossible. Jess couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Magic isn’t about hurting people,” the blonde snapped.

“No, most village witchcraft is healing,” Meg agreed. “Small wounds, birthing arts, and the occasional love potion.” She turned to Sam and smiled. “I need to talk to your wife. Girl things. I’m borrowing the kitchen.” Nodding to Jess, she trotted toward the home’s small kitchen and waited for the blonde to join her.

Jess slipped in shyly. “Yes?”

“You’re pregnant,” she observed. “How much longer?”

“Six weeks,” she answered. “If the way things keep going how they’re going he won’t last the winter, though.”

“He?”

Jess smiled. “It’s a boy.” Her hands hovered over Meg’s stomach, almost touching her. “May I?”

“Um, sure.”

Jess closed her eyes and pulled Meg’s shirt up before she gently pressed her palms against her bare skin. Meg shivered at the girl’s cold hands, but stayed still until Jess opened her eyes. “Oh, that little one in there is just starting.” Her eyes narrowed, and she pressed her hands harder into Meg’s flesh. “No way to tell the gender yet, but I think it might be a girl.”

“I’m not pregnant!” Meg hissed, jumping away. Jess raised her eyebrows and smiled.

“Um, yes, you are,” she insisted. “Lisa thought the same thing.”

Meg’s voice dropped. “I drank my tea,” she told her. “There’s no way. I’ve been with a dragon for like the last month.”

She held up her hand. “Your dragon is not really a dragon.”

“How did you know?”

“There are no more dragons,” Jess explained. “Your ancestor, Lucifer the Dragonslayer, really did slay the last of them. The only way you can make a dragon is with magic.” She smiled at Meg. “You want to know if I can change him back?”

“Yes.”

“I’d have to see him,” Jess said apologetically. “I don’t know what the witch who cursed him did. It would be better if it was her, of course. It’s always easier to break your own spell.”

Meg winced. “He ate her.”

Jess raised her eyebrows. “Well, we better get back to my husband, otherwise he’ll think that _you_ ate _me._

Meg laughed. “Fair enough. But, I’m not pregnant. I can’t be.”

Concern filled Jessica’s eyes. “One plant can look a lot like another kind,” she said gently. “The two flowers are very similar. Or else your dragon’s got some big magic in him to get you pregnant while you’re drinking your tea.”

“We didn’t actually… he wasn’t a dragon at the time,” Meg explained. “This… thing that turns him into one, it's--”

“You don’t have to explain,” Jess assured her. “I don’t think a dragon could get you pregnant, anyway. But if this whole takeover thing works we should find a way to break his curse as fast as possible so no one suspects.”

Meg nodded, a little stunned by the news. “Hey, at least if I die no one will know a dragon got me pregnant.”

This time, Jess laughed. “That _is_ a positive.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Standing next to Castiel at the base of the outer wall, Meg watched the first few fingers of dawn creep over the sky and hoped that everyone would play their part. Her dragon was silent beside her, his wings twitching in anticipation. She felt a little pang of guilt at the fact that she hadn’t told him around the pregnancy. But, she reasoned, he would try to keep her out of the fight if he knew.

And if she died, it wouldn’t matter, anyway.

“It’s time,” he said when the sun crept over the horizon to hover in the sky. Meg nodded and climbed onto his neck. No longer needing to hold onto his horns for balance, she moved her body with his, simply gripping him hard with her thighs. He would not drop her, she knew. Not on a day as important as this.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she would be surprised if Castiel could not hear it. Fear crept into her belly for a moment, nestling next to her unborn child and threatening to spill out of her. But then her dragon made a soft sound and lifted her upward, and she banished it from her mind. Briefly, Meg wished that she could kiss him like she had that morning after he transformed.

He stopped at the base of the wall, and Meg stood up on shaking legs, her sword swaying at her hip. Casey had donated her old clothes for the occasion, giving Meg a soft, black pair of trousers and a ruffled red shirt. They’d given her chainmail to wear under it, with boiled leather under that, and she knew that the others were wearing it as well. Crowley’s men would be clad in good steel, she knew, and better armored than her own people, but some protection was better than none. Her shoes were new as well, and they prevented Castiel’s scales from ripping at the skin of her feet. But they also blocked out his warmth from seeping into his body

She climbed over his horns, walked down his snout, and took the final step away from her dragon to land delicately on the walls of her home. She crouched and turned to look at him.

“Fly safe.”

He pressed his snout against her breasts for a moment. “I love you.”

He was gone before she could answer, moving for the safety of the trees. She watched his back for a moment before she took a deep breath and stood, turning to stare down at the courtyard below her where, only a little over a month before, she had been condemned to die. She saw Garth waiting by the gate and smiled.

“Hey, Crowley!” she yelled down. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, you smarmy dick! Guess who isn’t dead?”

Shocked faces turned to look at her, and several men drew their swords and ran for the steps. Baring her teeth in a smile, she called again, “Come on, Crowley! I’m right here! Come and get me! Or are you afraid a woman will kill you?”

It took a few minutes, but the king appeared below, just as she knew he would. The guards rushed up and surrounded her on either side, their swords drawn.

“Whore,” Crowley said calmly.

“Nah, just a princess,” she called back.

“I don’t know how you got back here, or how you lived, but you’ll regret that you returned,” he promised. The guards crept closer.

Meg smirked and stepped backward so she was standing at the very edge of the wall. “No, I don’t think so.” Giving the guards a cheery wave, she took a deep breath. _“Now!”_

She jumped backward, women screaming below her, and landed on Castiel’s neck. Her dragon roared and pumped his wings, the force throwing the guards on the wall to the ground below. She clutched his horns as he flew higher and watched them fall, their heads breaking inside their helms. Blood soaked into the cobblestones as Garth threw the gate open and her men rushed inside.

More than just the group at the tavern, Sam and Dean had reached out to every dissenter they could find. Anyone who wanted her line on the throne or was simply unhappy with Crowley’s rule had joined the fight, and they flowed into the yard like a rushing river. The sound of steel meeting steel floated up to her, and Meg laughed over the noise of screams and death that filled the air.

Sure enough, trebuchets were in place. But Castiel roared again before the men could reach them, throwing back his great head and then raining fire down upon them. They died screaming, pus running down their faces as their eyes melted out of their skulls to drip sluggishly down their skin. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and the trebuchets crackled as merrily as the fire they had lain next to when he’d been human, and Meg smiled at the memory.

Castiel took them higher, circling the towers of the castle. She moved with his body, leaning when he turned, and looked below her. The battle raged on in the courtyard, and when she shouted at Castiel to take them lower, he obeyed her. She pulled her body tight as they descended, slipping her legs away from his scales to kneel on his neck. Men rushed toward them, fearless, with their swords drawn. Keeping her head ducked behind his horns, she felt Castiel spew more fire from his mouth. The heat washed over her, warm enough to make her skin throb, but she paid it no mind. It felt good now, familiar and so different from the heat that had rolled through her body when she was in her cage. Instead of shrinking away, she rolled off of his neck and got to her feet, hand flying to her knife.

All around her men and women screamed and died by steel or fire. Kevin Tran sprinted past her and toward the castle, sword in hand, calling for his mother. Sam and Dean Winchester stood back to back, slicing their way through Crowley’s forces. She watched as a group of men wearing Crowley’s colors ripped off their cloaks and turned on his other men once they saw her dragon land, joining the winning side. She saw Garth, whooping with the joy of battle, chasing after one of Crowley’s men as he ran for the gates.

But the king himself was nowhere to be found.

Meg jerked her head toward the castle and ran for the doors, Castiel following behind her with his wings spread to shield her from the blood and flames, the force of his feet sending vibrations through the stones. She pulled her knife from her hip and sprinted, ducking under blades as they whirled past her. She had never been as good with a sword as Tom had been, her training having ended when her father had placed her in the dungeons with her uncle, but she could handle one well enough to defend herself if she needed to.

Her knife felt more familiar in her grip than any sword ever would. She felt safer with it in her hand, even though she had a dragon at her back. Down in the dungeons with her knives and other toys, she had been feared, powerful. That feeling came rushing back to her as she sprinted through her home, running through the maze of hallways that eventually grew too narrow for her dragon to follow her. He roared in protest, but Meg ignored him, venturing deeper, the plush carpeting muffling her footsteps and the thick stone drowning out the sounds of men dying outside.

The others followed her. She whirled skidded to a halt against the rich, red rugs when she heard footsteps, but resumed running when she saw that it was only the Winchester brothers. One of Dean’s arms dangled uselessly at his side and blood stained his clothing, but he followed her into the castle all the same. Both of them were covered in blood and sweat and stank of smoke, but they were one of the sweetest sights that Meg had ever witnessed.

Crowley’s men rushed at her, but a blast of fire knocked them to the side, igniting the carpet under their feet as they howled and rolled. She turned and saw Castiel flying just outside the windows, the force of his breath having blown out the glass. He roared again, and a rush of air filled the hallway, putting out the fire and leaving the men to groan and die in agony on the floor. She leapt over them and sprinted up a flight of stairs, her heart pounding and her chest heaving with the effort. Her stomach rolled, her breakfast threatening to reappear, but she kept running, forcing the feeling down. There would be time to deal with it later, she promised herself. There would be time to deal with everything later.

A woman screamed.

Meg saw a woman with dark hair and eyes crouching in the hallway, her arms thrown over her head. Dressed in a sleeveless, stone-colored gown, she almost blended into the walls. Sam and Dean thundered up the stairs behind her as Meg grabbed the girl by her hair and dragged her to her feet, taking special notice of the small bulge in the middle of her gown. The woman sobbed and clawed at Meg’s hands, her feet kicking out to try to strike her legs.

“Lady Cecily,” Dean grunted, putting his palm over his injured shoulder to staunch the flow of blood.

“The queen?” Meg asked him. Sam nodded. Meg shook the girl by her hair, forcing another sob from her throat. “Tell me where he is! Have you seen him?”

Sobbing, she shook her head. “I’m not pregnant, I swear it! I swear it! He made me! _He made me!_ Don’t kill me!”

“Where is he?” Meg asked again, pressing the tip of her knife against the girl’s throat. She was rewarded with another sob as the girl began to tremble. Meg pressed her blade harder into the girl’s flesh, and this time she was rewarded with a small trickle of blood. The girl screeched at the pain.

“I don’t know! I don’t!” she shrieked. “You’re hurting me! Please, please just let me go! I’m not pregnant! I’m not! _I’m not!”_

“Did you see him?” Meg asked again. “I don’t have time for this, lady. _Did you see him?”_

The girl nodded, pressing her throat deeper against the point of Meg’s knife. Her sobs finally quieted into small whimpers of pain as she looked up at her. Meg smiled.

“There’s a good girl. Where did he go?”

Trembling, she pointed downward. Meg cursed. “The throne room. There’s a secret tunnel that leads out through the throne room,” Cecily confessed. “Please, I told you what you wanted to know. I swear I’m not pregnant. I swear it! You don’t have to kill me!”

“Like Hell you aren’t,” Meg growled. If she had gotten pregnant from just three days with her dragon, she had no doubt that Crowley, having had over a month with the girl, had already planted an heir. The small bump in the girl’s abdomen gave her away, and for a moment Meg felt her stomach roll at the thought of what she had to do. But then she steeled her spine and smiled. “Thanks for the information, though.” Meg drew her knife across the girl’s throat and let go of her hair. Turning, she brushed past Sam and Dean and raced for the stairs again, not bothering to watch the little queen die. _She was lying about being pregnant,_ Meg reasoned. _She had a baby bump. Crowley had time with her. She must have been lying._

Of all the things she had done down in her dungeons, she had never killed a pregnant woman. Regret crept up on her for a moment, but she pushed it away.

She had no other thoughts to spare for Cecily as she made her way to the throne room. The blood staining her knife and hands sang to her in the same way it had since she had cut into her first man down in the dungeons as a child with her uncle standing over her, his hand over hers on the knife. The sound and smell of smoke and sweat and battle left her, replaced with only the sharp, metallic smell of the girl’s blood and the sound of her own life pounding in her ears. Even the image of her dragon’s blue eyes and sweet smile left her.

The hallway to the throne room was different from what she remembered. Gone were the portraits of the previous kings and queens that had hung there for centuries. Gone were the rich tapestries depicting hunts and knights at vigil that she’d hidden behind with her brother as a child. The walls were filled with gruesome, hellish scenes instead, tapestries and paintings depicting torture and death. She almost retched, not from the images, but from the thought of Crowley gutting away all her family history and replacing it so easily.

But then the large doors of the throne room rose above her. Made of thick stone and thrice her height, no one man could hope to open or close them by himself. Open, they allowed light to pour into the hallway, and Meg could clearly see her father’s throne from the doorway.

She could see Crowley, the slimy bastard, struggling to move it.

 _The tunnel’s under the throne, she_ realized. _Father had it under his chair the whole time, just in case._ But she knew how heavy the golden throne was, having climbed onto it countless times during her childhood while the adults were away on business or pleasure, and she knew that it would take more strength than one man had to move it.

“It’s over,” she said, striding into the throne room with her back straight and her head held high, just as her father had taught her to walk all those years ago.

“Whore,” he greeted calmly, straightening from his crouch and turning to face her. He was not much taller than she was, and rounder than she remembered. No fear ran through her at the sight of him. Instead, she felt the heat of battle begin to grow inside of her, and any remaining disgust at killing Cecily and her unborn child burned away. Crowley glanced at the blood on her hands and shrugged. “So you and your beast killed a few men.”

“I killed your queen.”

“Just as well. I only married her because her father helped with the takeover. Now I can find someone more suitable for my bed.”

Meg shoved her knife back into her belt and drew her sword. “You’ll be dead, too. It _is_ a pity that I can’t lock you up downstairs and torture you, or roast you like you did to me.”

Crowley drew his own sword. “A half-trained girl and two injured peasants think that they can kill the king?” He laughed and took a step toward her. “I should have burned you with your family.”

“Yes, you should have,” Meg agreed. “But here I am, safe and sound. And I’m going to kill you.”

“It’s impressive that you have a dragon, I’ll grant you that,” Crowley continued casually, taking small, measured steps toward her. Meg narrowed her eyes. “How did you manage to make him bring you back here, to listen to you? Are you a witch, Meg?”

She smirked. “I’m just lucky that way.”

His voice dropped into a smooth, soft tone. “It doesn’t have to be this way, you know. You’re only a daughter, no threat to me at all without a husband. I could let you leave, hop back on your dragon and fly away to parts unknown, with enough gold to keep you rich.”

“I have all the gold I will ever need. I’d rather see you dead.”

Crowley shrugged. “As you wish.”

He came at her.

Meg raised her sword, preparing for a fight, when the castle shook. Dust and small stones rained down on their heads as she and Crowley froze in their movements and turned to her right, where a rumbling sound was building. Taking advantage of the distraction, Meg drove her sword into his shoulder before she jumped backward, drawing the blade back out of him and barreling into Sam and Dean, sending the three of them tumbling to the floor.

The wall exploded.

Castiel’s roar filled the throne room. Furious, the dragon closed his mouth around Crowley’s sword arm and wrenched his head to the side, tearing the arm off with it. Crowley screamed, blood pouring from the wound, and fell onto his knees on the plush, red carpet. Castiel roared again, wings beating so loud she could barely hear his roar above the noise, and thrust his head into the throne room, his teeth slamming together with a metallic click as he tried to get at Crowley, the sheer weight behind his movements shaking the whole castle.

“Cas, enough!” Meg ordered calmly as Crowley rolled and howled at her feet. Gesturing to Sam, she watched the tall man yank Crowley to his feet by the back of his shirt and march him over to the room’s large window overlooking the courtyard. She followed him calmly, her steps measured and even.

Sam forced Crowley to his knees once again as Meg looked out the window. The fighting below her had stopped at the sound of her dragon’s roar, and she saw men from Crowley’s side and hers alike staring up at them in shock.

“I am the queen now,” she announced. “And by my own order, if you fought for Crowley on this day or on the day of my family’s death, I sentence you to die, along with your king.”

Crowley stared up at her, his face chalky white as blood dripped sluggishly from his stump. Smiling, she raised her sword and brought it down on his neck. His scream of pain turned into a gurgle as she ripped her sword out and brought it down again, and then a third time, finally cutting through bones and tendons and muscles. The former king’s eyes were open when his head rolled across the floor and bounced against the stone wall. His open eyes stared up at her, glassy but still full of hatred. The smell of human waste wafted off his body, which twitched for a moment before going still.

Sam let him go, and the body of King Fergus Crowley crumpled to the floor while the peasants cheered below her and the condemned men died.

“What should we do with it?” Sam asked. Meg gave Crowley’s body a vicious kick and, suddenly exhausted, let her sword fall to the floor. She sank down to her knees beside it and turned to stare at his head.

“Give it to Castiel to eat, if he wants. If not, give it to his dogs. It’s what his pets would have wanted.” It was well known that Crowley had loved his hounds, and it seemed a fitting end for him. “The head I want to keep.”

Sam dragged Crowley’s corpse to Castiel. The dragon poured a small blast of flame over the body, cooking it, before he blew the fire out and devoured it in one bite, pulling it into his mouth without chewing. Meg smiled at him. “What did I tell you about that?”

“You told me to chew if I decided to eat you one day. You did not say anything about chewing if I ate other people.”

Meg laughed and stood on shaking legs. Grabbing Crowley’s head by the hair, she tucked it under her arm and walked toward the hole in the wall. That would have to be repaired, she knew, but the feeling of victory raced through her, convincing Meg to worry about it later. Castiel laid his head on the ground for her, his neck stretched out while his wings pumped lazily to keep him in the air, and Meg swung herself onto his neck, leaning into his familiar warmth. Sam and Dean shifted nervously from foot to foot behind her. Castiel turned his head toward them, and then rolled his eyes back to look at her.

Meg beamed at them. “Hey, you boys ever wanted to ride a dragon?”

Sam and Dean smiled at her and ran forward, laughing like children as they swung up behind her. Dean settled between her and his brother, using his one good arm to cling to her waist. Sam’s arms were long enough to grip both of them securely, but Meg trusted Castiel. She knew that he would not let her fall. The boys, either, she guessed, because they were with her.

Weary, she leaned against his horns and tried to keep her eyes from drooping shut. But the cheers below her were enough to keep her on her feet as she moved through the gaggle of people gathered in the courtyard. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kevin Tran smiling at her and clutching the hand of an older woman that had to be his mother.

“You said you had a bastard child?” she asked Dean. He nodded wearily beside her. “Bring her to court. Your wife and son as well.”

“What?”

“Sam, you too. And Bobby. And all the rest.”

“Why?”

Meg smiled at them. “Garth still has the list of lords that supported Crowley. They will all be executed and their lands and gold seized. Someone will have to control the peasants. Dean, how old is your bastard?”

“Seven.”

Meg’s smile widened. “Not so old. Good. We’ll make her a proper little lady, then.”

“Meg, I don’t think--”

“I do,” she said.

 


	10. Chapter 10

She woke without Castiel for the first time in a month.

It was strange, and cold, to not have her dragon beside her. Meg rolled over on the featherbed and stretched her arm out, her fingers automatically seeking his warmth. But then she opened her eyes and saw the empty bed, and the memory of the previous day came rushing back to her.

A giggle tore itself from her throat as she rolled herself back over to look out her tower window. She’d declined her old chambers, instead taking the tallest room that she could find. Before Castiel, she’d preferred her rooms deep within the castle, closer to the dungeons and her uncle. But now the height of the tower was more comfortable, more familiar. Nearly as high as their cliff top cave, the east tower faced the sun in the same way that their cave had. The air that rolled through her windows tasted fresher, cleaner, without the scent of blood to taint it.

Castiel would like it, too, she knew, once they broke his curse and he was with her once again. For now, her dragon had chosen to sleep in the bloody courtyard. When she glanced out the window, she could see the smoke that poured from his nostrils while he slept curling around the remains of Crowley’s head. She’d demanded that it be mounted outside her window, so she could see it from her bed when she woke in the mornings.

Meg slipped from her bed and walked the short distance to the window. The wind blew, ruffling her hair and bringing the smell of decay into the room. The cold cut through her thin, ruffled nightgown, but she barely felt the chill. Her triumph warmed her.

Crows had already been at the head, she saw. Strips of flesh were missing from his round cheeks and chin, and his eyes were dark, bloody holes. _They eat the eyes first,_ she thought, although she could not recall who had told her that.

A knock had her turning away from the window. “Yeah?”

“Your Grace, Jess is here with her husband,” her new maid, Charlie announced. She had been Cecily’s maid, and one of the first servants Meg had spared. Most of the castle’s staff had simply shrugged their shoulders and returned to work when Crowley had died, not caring who ruled over them so long as they were paid. Crowley had kept most of the servants that had been there since before Meg had been born, but the redhead girl was new, brought in special for his new queen.

Her name had made Meg raise her eyebrows, but when she’d found the girl hiding in Cecily’s rooms, a knife clutched in her hands to defend herself, Meg had taken an instant liking to the girl. She’d promised her that she would live and keep her job for as long as she wanted it, and Charlie, having nowhere else to go, had agreed to stay with her.

“Lady Jessica, now,” Meg corrected, looking back out the window. When she leaned out, she could see Castiel stirring in the courtyard, next to two small figures. “Or soon, anyway.”

“Yeah. I forgot.”

Meg shrugged. “You won’t be the first.”

“Do you want a bath before you go down?” Charlie asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. The girl’s nose wrinkled when she smelled the rotting head, but she had the grace not to comment on it.

“No. Bring me something purple today, would you?”

Charlie bobbled into a clumsy curtsey and moved to the wardrobe, sifting through the clothes. Crowley had burned her family’s clothing and possessions save for their books and jewelry, so she had taken his little queen’s wardrobe for herself until she could get her own clothes made. Once she had her own clothing again, she would give them to Jess or to Dean’s wife, Lisa.

Her maid brought her a gown the deep color of wine with golden leaves and vines embroidered on the sleeves and bodice. Low-cut, it showed off her shoulders and the tops of her breasts, even as the skirt brushed the floor. She allowed Charlie to help her into it and lace up the back, uncomfortable in a dress after spending so long in loose pants and looser shirts.

She even allowed the maid to brush her hair, but declined her dressing it, instead opting for a simple braid down her back. She refused Cecily’s jewelry as well, no longer used to wearing gems or gold. Even before Crowley had killed her family, she had preferred to dress simply and without jewelry unless she was in court. There was no place for finery in the dungeons.

She had no shoes save for the ones that Casey had given her, but the skirt of the gown hid them, anyway. Charlie held a mirror in front of her face and smiled. “There. Now you look every inch a queen.”

She did, Meg realized as she looked at herself in the mirror. Gone was the wild girl who had slept under the stars and ridden a dragon. A queen stared back at her from the mirror, and for a moment Meg found herself wishing that she had stayed in Castiel’s cave with him.

 _He wanted to_ , she thought _. I could’ve stayed up there with him and spent my days flying and my full moons fucking under the stars._

But then the wind blew the smell of decay into the room again and she shook herself. She had better things to do than brood over maybes and might-have-been’s. She had papers to draw up, lands to distribute, and honors to award. She had a throne room to rebuild, a curse to break, and a wedding to plan. She had to tell Castiel about the child growing in her.

And they had their dead to bury, Crowley’s men and her own supporters alike.

“Come on, Charlie. Let’s go meet the Lady.”

.

Jess smiled when she saw her. “You look nice.”

“I look ridiculous and queenly,” Meg said, pulling the girl into an embrace. Her swollen stomach pressed against Meg’s flat one, and she could feel the child kicking. “Sam went inside?”

“It’s the same thing, really,” Jess told her when they pulled away. She turned and looked at Castiel, a smile on her face. “And yes, he did. Now, let’s see your dragon.”

“Good morning,” he greeted when they reached him. He yawned, showing off his foot-long teeth and large pink tongue. Meg could see scraps of burnt flesh and fabric stuck between them, no doubt from Crowley. Jess smiled at him.

“Could you just lower your head down a bit?” she asked. “I need to touch you.”

“Of course, Lady,” he said, stretching his neck out so Jess could touch him, careful to avoid bumping his nose against her stomach. Jess closed her eyes and placed her hands on either side of his head, humming softly.

 _It looks almost like something out of a fairy tale,_ Meg thought as she watched Jess’ hands softly stroke the dragon’s head. Jessica Winchester looked almost like an angel, with her sunshine hair and stark white gown, while her dragon looked every bit like a monster from a children’s book.

When Jess opened her eyes and stepped away from him, she was smiling. “Haven’t you told him that you love him yet?” she asked. Meg shook her head. “Well, that’s the answer. Your witch had a bit of a romantic streak in her, Castiel.”

Meg moved forward and took Jess’ place, looking into Castiel’s eyes as she gripped his head. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you, too.”

Nothing happened. Meg waited for a moment and repeated her words, a small frown forming on her face when Castiel did not begin to thrash or scream as he started to transform. He stared back at her with wide, hopeless eyes. When Meg turned, she saw Jess frowning as well. “That’s not right.”

“You said that’s what would break it!” Meg said. “He’s still a dragon.”

“That should have worked!” Jess snapped. “I mean, the only other way to break a spell like this is a kiss, but you’ve done that already, haven’t you?”

“Quite a lot,” Castiel rumbled. “When I turned human during the full moon, Meg kissed me on the first day. I had hoped that it would break the spell, but as you can see, it did not.”

Meg groaned. A kiss. It always came down to a stupid kiss. Just like in a fairy tale.

Jess nibbled on her lower lip. “Well then, I’m stuck. I mean, if a kiss can’t break that spell, nothing can. You have kissed him when he’s like this, right? True love’s kiss breaks every spell.”

Meg glanced at Castiel, who was staring at Jess like she was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen.

“I haven’t,” Meg said stiffly.

“Well, it can’t hurt to try,” Jess told her, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I need a chair. This baby’s kicking.”

Meg ignored her and turned back to Castiel, once again gripping his face. Her dragon closed his eyes and nudged her with his snout, pressing himself against her breasts and middle. She leaned down, her braid falling over her shoulder, and gently touched her lips to his scaled head.

Her dragon inhaled sharply, his eyes snapping open to look at her. His body shook for a moment, and Meg took a step back, grabbing Jess’ arm and dragging the witch with her, knowing how Castiel flailed and roared when he transformed. The smell of rain and leaves and other, wilder things filled the courtyard.

“Oh,” he breathed softly. One of his great teeth dropped from his mouth, and then another, and then another. His head fell onto the stones, sending the rest of his foot-long teeth scattering across the courtyard. Jess made a soft sound of horror and buried her face in Meg’s shoulder, but the queen could only watch in fascination as the scales began to fall from Castiel’s body as well. They poured off of him like small rocks tumbling down a mountain, clattering against the stones and exposing his raw, red flesh to the open air. Red-hot blood ran off his body in rivers, hissing as it hit the ground and cooled.

Through it all, her dragon did not scream.

Transfixed by the horrible transformation in front of her, Meg could only stare as even Castiel’s flesh began to melt away, dropping to the ground in large, red chunks. She heard Jess vomiting beside her, and reached out gently rub the girl’s back. Sweat beaded on her skin as steam filled the air, soaking into her gown and making the material cling to her body and her hair heavy on her head. Jess coughed under the assault, but Meg remained rooted to the spot even as sweat ran down her face and into her eyes, small streams of it running between her breasts and down her legs. She welcomed the warmth.

“Is this supposed to happen?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” Jess answered, her voice trembling.

They watched until all that was left of her dragon was a large, white skeleton gleaming in the sun, smoke spiraling up from his rib cage as his exposed organs steamed and cooled against the air. She could not see the skull under the pile of flesh and scales that littered the courtyard. Only the long, long spine, ribs, and longer tail were visible. The skeleton trembled for a moment, suspended, before it crashed to the ground, cushioned by the pile of raw flesh and the pool of hot blood slowly seeping toward them.

Shaking, Meg tore herself away from Jess and shifted through the scales, bones, and bloody flesh piled at her feet, paying no mind to the way it stained her gown and burned against her ankles. She shoved chunks of flesh and large, slimy organs away with her hands, ignoring her stinging feet and palms. One of her shoes slipped from her feet, and Meg found herself on her knees. She picked herself up, stumbled, and fell again. Using one of his bones to support her, she hauled herself to her feet and waded through the remains of her dragon. “Cas!”

Shoving aside the remains of his fat, pink intestines, she stopped, mouth dropping open in shock. There, in the middle of what remained of her dragon, was Castiel, fully human. Curled on his side, his skin was pink as a newborn babe’s and smeared with blood, and he was cushioned from the falling bones and the harsh stones of the courtyard by several of his former body’s organs.

“Castiel,” she whispered again. He uncurled himself and blinked up at her, trying to sit up. His hands slipped on the blood and organs, sending him sprawling on his back. Meg laughed. “Oh, gods.”

He raised his hands to his face in wonder, flexing his fingers before he looked up at her again, happiness and disbelief shining in his eyes. “It worked.”

Meg laughed again. Her shaking legs gave out, forcing her to her knees. Slipping in the blood and viscera on the ground, she scrambled toward Castiel and hauled him into her arms, not caring about how undignified she must have looked, not caring about the pain from the red-hot flesh around her, or the stains on her gown or anyone else in the courtyard. Not caring about anything else other than the now human man in her arms.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jess, smiling, seat herself on one of the large, white ribs that had belonged to her dragon. Sam and Dean emerged from the castle and ran toward them, Kevin and Charlie on their heels.

Meg ignored them all and clutched Castiel tighter. Suddenly, he began laughing with her and pulled away to pepper her face with kisses. She returned them eagerly, grabbing his blood-streaked face in her reddened hands and roughly bringing his lips to hers. She could taste his blood on his lips, but she didn’t care. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck the two of them fell to the ground, kissing again and again and again.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Their wedding day dawned bright and clear.

A cool breeze blew through the room, waking Meg. Shivering slightly, she pulled her blanket tighter to her and peered out the window. Crowley’s head still stood on its spike, but she could barely tell what he had looked like, the crows having eaten most of his face. Only a few leathery strips of flesh still clung to his skull, along with a few wisps of dark, thin hair.

Charlie burst into the room, forcing Meg to look away from the window. “You’re still in bed?” her maid screeched. “You’re getting married today!”

“Not for a few hours,” Meg groaned, pulling her blankets up higher over her chest when she saw the nearly-feral gleam in her maid’s eyes.

“It will take you that long to get ready,” Charlie told her in a low voice. Her tone suggested that she would accept no protests or excuses from her queen, so Meg relented and dropped the blanket.

“If you say so,” Meg told her. Charlie smiled in triumph and tugged Meg out of bed, calling behind her. Two more maids came into the room, each of them carrying heavy buckets of steaming water and giggling happily. It seemed that laughter was all around her as they filled the copper tub in the corner of the room and picked up brushes and soap.

“Arms up,” Charlie ordered, putting her hands on her hips.

“I can do this myself, you know,” Meg protested. Even before her adventure with Castiel, she’d disliked the maids undressing and bathing her. Charlie rolled her eyes.

“Arms up,” she repeated. Meg grumbled, but obeyed, allowing her maid to pull her flimsy nightgown over her head. She stood, shivering on the carpet covering the room as the maids continued to fill the tub until the water sloshed at the brim and the steam made her hair damp. “In.”

She climbed into the steaming bathwater without protest, moaning happily at the heat, and allowed her maids to descend on her, obeying when they scrubbed her back and washed her hair. It gave her comfort to know that Castiel was enduring the same pampering somewhere on the other side of the castle, although she had no doubt that dressing him would take less preparation.

The wedding had not happened as quickly as she would have liked, and for the time being her dragon had been placed in a room as far away from her as he could get. There had been some that had argued against her marrying him, insisting that they didn’t know who his family was or if he made a worthy consort for a queen. She had caught some men whispering that Castiel was a witch, or else a shapeshifter, and that he should be killed before he corrupted them all.

She’d put a stop to all of it by pointing out that Castiel was now the richest man in their kingdom, and their savior to boot. After nearly a month of arguing, she had gotten her way. Still, preparations for her wedding had taken time. The only reason it was allowed to go forward before the throne room could be fully rebuilt was that Meg had revealed that she was pregnant. Her pregnancy was an open secret now, and most of the court figured that she and Castiel had snuck away to be together after he’d transformed, their blood heated by the battle the day before and the joy of his human form overwhelming their good sense.

He had to marry her then, she’d argued, and they’d relented, rushing the wedding as quickly as they could. Still, it had been over a month before their ceremony could be arranged, and Meg could already see her stomach beginning to grow.

Castiel had been overjoyed at the news that she was with child, and even though he had been temporarily exiled from her bed, he still snuck into her bedchamber most nights to lay his head on her stomach and mummer softly to the little life growing inside of her. He always left before the sun rose, but Meg found herself missing him during those few hours when she was alone in her bed. She missed the warmth that still poured off of him despite the fact that he was fully human, missed the faint smell of smoke that still clung to his skin and hair.

 _It won’t matter after tonight,_ she thought as Charlie poured some water over her head to rinse the soap from her hair. _I’ll have my own personal heater back._

Charlie sent another maid to close the curtains while the other one lit a fire, closing warmth in the room, before the redhead tugged Meg from her copper tub and wrapped her in a towel. One of the women ran a brush through her hair and began to dry it as Meg, shivering, clutched the towel to her body and the other maid yanked her hands away so she could work on her nails.

She let the women flutter around her, let them rub the towels over her skin and hair and primp her. It was part of being a queen, she reasoned, and there was no reason not to enjoy a little pampering on her special day.

One of the maids sprayed perfume on her and went to work on her hair while Charlie left the room. The only request she made was a simple hairstyle, nothing overly fancy or complicated, and the maid obeyed, brushing out her dark tresses until they shone in the faint sunlight streaming into the room. Humming, she allowed the maid to braid part of her hair into a crown around her head, letting the rest of it flow freely down her back.

Clad in a robe, she was nibbling on her breakfast tray when Charlie returned, Meg’s wedding dress in her arms. She’d seen it, of course, when it was being made, but after Charlie had caught Castiel sneaking into Meg’s room, she had taken it away and hidden it. She had been smart enough not to comment on Castiel’s nighttime visits, but she still held the old belief that it was bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding day.

“It’s time,” Charlie told her, beaming. The other two maids curtseyed and walked out, leaving Meg alone with Charlie and the purple bundle in her arms. Wrinkling her nose, Meg stood and dropped the robe on the carpet. Charlie laid the dress out on the bed and helped Meg don her undergarments before she forced her into the mass of silk and lace that made up her wedding dress.

Shaking her hair out of the low collar of the dress, Meg allowed Charlie to lace her up. The girl hummed while Meg stood still, fingering the long, sheer sleeves until her maid was done. She kept her eyes fixed on the stone wall of her bedroom until Charlie wheeled in a full-length mirror, an expensive wedding present from one of the nobles trying to get back on her good side.

“Turn around,” her maid requested. “You look beautiful.”

Meg obeyed, studying her reflection. She’d only seen the dress while it was being made, but had never been allowed to see herself in it before. Light purple; the dress’ thick, square neckline perfectly framed her breasts, and the loose bodice hid her growing stomach from view. The skirt flowed to the floor and flared out slightly at her hips, aiding in the camouflage. Small dragons embroidered with black thread chased each other around the hem and the edges of the gown’s wide, sheer sleeves, their wings stretched in flight.

Meg shrugged, uncomfortable in the heavy fabric. Even after nearly two months of being back in her father’s castle, she still felt trapped under all of the layers that were required for everyday life at court. When she’d complained, Jess had simply smiled and told her it would pass.

“Well, it is a pretty dress,” Meg commented, turning around to see the back of it. The skirt swished around her feet. The small train wrinkled against the carpet.

“Shoes,” Charlie ordered, giving Meg a final pat down when she was settled. “There. You’re ready.”

Meg looked at the closed door, her heart sinking. Her father should have been on the other side, waiting to walk her down to the throne room and her husband. Instead, his bones were rotting in a mass grave somewhere beside her brother’s and, if they were lucky, Tom’s little kitchen girl’s as well.

 _Our children would have grown up together,_ Meg thought as she walked to the door. _They would have been friends. Sisters, almost._

Meg shook her head. Without Crowley’s meddling, she never would have met Castiel. He would be on his cliff, preparing to transform into a human, and she would be engaged to another man. She shook her head again and pushed those thoughts from her mind. It wasn’t worth it to ask herself if Castiel and all the time they’d spent together was enough to make up for losing her father and brother. Not on her wedding day.

She smiled when the door swung open and Jess stepped into view, a small smile on her face. “I knew there’d be no one to walk you.”

Meg slipped her arm through Jess’ and allowed the girl to lead her away from her bedchamber while Charlie ducked away to hastily dress herself. Meg had insisted that her maid be allowed to attend the ceremony, the girl’s status be damned. She’d had the good sense to keep her mouth shut about Castiel’s nighttime visits to her mistress’ chambers, and she had taken care of Meg throughout the first weeks of her pregnancy, never judging or gossiping. She deserved to be there.

Jess paused at the corner of the hallway that led into the throne room where she knew everyone would be waiting. She had been kept away from it for the last week, the servants gently but firmly refusing her entrance as they decorated it for her wedding. She didn’t know what they needed an entire week to do, but in her own way she was looking forward to seeing it.

Meg took a deep breath, turned the corner, and gasped.

When Castiel had transformed, she’d ordered that a majority of his former flesh be cleared away, his teeth and bones turned into weapons and his scales turned into armor for the men that had supported her. She had never asked where they had stored them.

Now she knew.

Her dragon’s former skeleton lined the hall like a tunnel, his great spine hanging so low that if she stretched Meg would be able to brush her fingers over the sun-bleached bones. Several of his former ribs formed the walls of the tunnel, keeping Meg from seeing the bare stone where tapestries and portraits had hung until Crowley’s takeover. Flowers, vines, and other greenery crept up the curved pillars, their colors stark and bright against the pure white bone. Trumpets sounded through the great open doors, and even from far away she could see the lords and ladies turn to look at her and Castiel fidgeting nervously at the base of the throne, Dean standing beside him. Jess nudged her.

“Almost there.”

Meg took in another breath and walked toward the trumpets, keeping her eyes fixed on the spot above the throne. Crowley had smashed the dragon’s skull that had hung in their feast all for centuries, ever since Lucifer the Dragonslayer had hung it there. Someone had suggested that they put Castiel’s former skull in its place, but Castiel himself had discarded the idea, instead saying that it belonged above the throne.

She kept her eyes fixed on it until they reached the door. Jess leaned over, kissed her cheek, and walked toward her husband, leaving Meg alone. She stepped out of the makeshift tunnel and into the throne room. Sunlight streamed in from the still-damaged wall, and more bones from his spine hung from the ceiling over her head, forming a path for her to follow. Children scattered flowers at her feet.

Meg ignored them all and looked at her dragon.

Castiel stood at the base of the throne, under a large arch made of two of his remaining ribs. Dressed in black, he stared back at her, his blue eyes almost glowing with happiness. If he felt sadness or disgust at the remains of his former body that decorated the room, he didn’t show it, instead focusing all his attention on her. When Meg got closer, she could see that there were more dragons carved into the arch of bone stretching above their heads, flying in spirals toward the top of it.

Dragons had always been popular at court, Meg remembered, and it seemed like Castiel’s transformation and his part in the battle had only elevated their popularity.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered when he took her hand and turned to face her. Meg studied his clothes, combed hair, and the dragonscale armor she’d had made for him and smiled.

“We look ridiculous. I guess it’s too late to run back to the cave?”

He smiled. “Definitely.”

The priest cleared his throat and they fell silent. Meg barely listened, speaking only to repeat the words he told her to say. Castiel, however, gave the man his complete attention, his eyes only flicking over to give her an occasional glance.

He turned his full attention back to her when it came time for them to kiss, cupping her face softly in his palms. Meg let him take the lead for once, standing on her toes to reach his lips. The throne room thundered with applause when they parted and turned to face their guests, hands clasped. Sam and Dean strode forward, each holding their crowns on small, velvet pillows.

Meg bowed her head, allowing Sam to place the circlet atop her curls. She’d designed her crown herself. Gold, it was barely as wide as her pinkie finger, and the only adornment was a small ruby in the center. Someone had once told her that a crown should never sit lightly on a queen’s head, but she had forgotten who. In any case, she preferred the weight of her crown to be metaphorical, especially with the weight growing in her middle.

Castiel’s was thicker, with two dragons carved in the sides, their foreheads touching in the middle. Two small rubies glowed out from where their eyes would be. He had designed his, although she had overseen the goldsmith’s work.

With the crown on his head and his dragonscale armor on his body, he looked every inch a king.

But Meg only had to wait for the dancing in the feast hall to see the man she had known up on that cliff to reemerge. She looked forward to seeing her new husband make his way through the dance steps, but momentarily forgot about it when the food was served. The only thing she did not miss about her time in Castiel’s lair was the steady diet of half-cooked cows, rabbits, goats, and horses, broken up by the occasional vegetable and glass of milk. When the cooks had asked her if she had any preference for the food at her wedding, she had only told them not to prepare cow, goat, or horse.

Meg pushed as much food onto her dragon as she could, insisting that he try everything the cooks put in front of them. She watched as his face changed with everything he ate, the two of them devouring the wild boar, swan, and lamb that the servants brought into the hall. His face became more and more flushed as they drank deeply from their cups. Meg had discovered numerous barrels and bottles of expensive alcohol in the cellars, all belonging to Crowley, and had insisted that they be served at her wedding. She contented herself with one cup of heavily watered wine during the toasts, and then beckoned for the servants scurrying about the hall to fill her cup with either mead or cider.

Castiel himself abstained after a few glasses, unused to the rich alcohol, but continued to eat as the cooks set fruits and other treats in front of them. Cakes made from lemons or oranges or sweetened with honey passed by their table, and she saw Castiel’s eyes dance with happiness at the sweets.

But then the food was cleared away and the instruments were set up, and Meg saw an entirely different light fill her husband’s eyes. He looked nervous, almost scared to be dancing in front of all those people. But then the musicians gestured to her and Meg took his hand, dragging him out of the chair while several ladies stood, waiting their turn.

They were the first to take to the floor when the musicians began to play, Castiel’s sweaty hand holding hers so tightly that she was afraid the fragile bones would snap. He relaxed slightly when their other guests joined them on the floor, and the musicians struck up the traditional wedding dance. He danced better than he did the first time they had touched their palms together beside the fire high above the world, but he was still clumsy and unpracticed with other woman. What little skill he had only showed when they went through the line and came together again.

When she pressed his palms together and felt the heat of his skin sinking into her own, it was like all the other people in the room disappeared. The music swelled and he wrapped his arm around her waist to spin her, and when Meg closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that they were back on that cliff under the stars, with their fire crackling merrily beside them as she laughed and taught him how to dance.

Letting him spin her, Meg pressed her cheek to his and inhaled the faint scent of smoke that clung to him. Over the last few weeks the servants had tried everything they could to rid him of the smell, from bathing him in scented water to giving him small bags of flowers to keep in his pockets, but nothing they had done could chase it away completely. It was always there, lingering on his skin. Meg suspected that it would always be.

And she was fine with that. It was a good smell, familiar. It brought her back to the first time she had ridden on his back, laughing as he took them up into the blue, and to the first time they had bathed together and coupled beneath the night sky.

The music changed as fiddlers began to play, and the couples in the room that had never done a court dance in their life whooped and cheered at the familiar tune. Castiel was among them, pulling her as close to his body as he could and leading her in an unfamiliar rhythm. He laughed when Meg stepped on his toes, beaming down at her with a small smile on his face, happy that he could do something that she couldn’t.

It was her turn to laugh when Jess cut in, whirling Meg’s new husband away as Sam took her hands and led her around the room. Castiel looked at her with a panicked expression for a moment before he realized how well the small blonde witch danced. Sam, with a surprising amount of grace for such a large man, led her in a slower version, giving her time to get used to the steps before he moved her through more complicated ones.

The dancing continued long into the night, until one of the men present began to bang his cup against the table, calling for quiet. A few others followed, men and woman alike, until Castiel, confused, turned to look at the feast tables. Dean stood, swaying unsteadily on his feet with his face flushed from the rich wine, and put his hand on his wife’s shoulder for support. Lisa put her hand over his, the long, daggered sleeve of her gown running down to bunch around her elbow, and beamed up at her husband.

“I think it’s time to put the happy newlyweds to bed!” he bellowed. Drunken roars went up all around them, and Meg found herself surrounded by a ring of giggling girls, her maid, Charlie, at the forefront. The redhead winked and began to drag her from the room, and over her shoulder Meg noticed Sam, Dean, and several other men marching Castiel away while he looked around in confusion.

Meg laughed and allowed the giggling group of women to lead her through the hall, a few of the musicians trailing behind them, playing a soft tune. The men took Castiel in another direction, and Meg could hear their laughter and bawdy jokes almost all the way to her bedchamber.

Jess and Charlie were at the forefront of the group, tugging her out of her dress as soon as one of the women kicked the bedchamber door shut behind them. They heard the men shove Castiel into the adjoining room where she normally sat to read or embroider, and heard her new husband protesting the removal of his clothes and armor.

“Cas, it is tradition!” they heard Dean shout through the door, causing another fit of giggles to explode from the women around her.

“Meg and I have seen each other without clothes many times, Dean,” her husband replied. The men roared with laughter, drowning out the noise from the women around her, and Meg would have bet all the gold in her vaults that Castiel was blushing.

The women pulled a ruffled nightgown over her head, knocking her circlet askew. Charlie reached up to fix it, smoothing Meg’s hair and pointedly looking away from where the low neckline exposed the tops of her mistress’ breasts before she backed away toward the door.

Jess helped Meg into the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, giving her friend a wink before she began to shuffle the other women out of the room. “Have fun!”

“You know that we’ve already had our fun!” Meg joked back before the door slammed shut. It was quiet for a moment before the door to the adjoining room was thrown open and the group of men shoved Castiel through, slamming it shut behind them. His crown was gone, and his white, oversized nightshirt hung to his knees. Just as Meg had suspected, his face was bright red.

The sound of the musicians playing faded as the men and women made their way back to the feast all to finish off the food and drink before returning to their own chambers, and Meg knew that in a little less than a year there would be more children in the castle aside from her and Jessica’s.

Sitting up in bed, Meg let the blankets drop to her waist and patted the spot next to her. “Come to bed, husband.”

“Your customs are strange,” he said, crawling in beside her. Carefully removing her circlet, Castiel place it on the night table pulled Meg to lean against his shoulder. “We did not do things like that back home.”

“How else do you know if the marriage gets consummated or not?” she asked. Castiel rolled his eyes and placed a hand on her belly.

“I wonder,” he said dryly. Meg laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before she moved to straddle him, winding her arms around his neck.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t still have sex,” she pointed out. Castiel murmured in agreement before he leaned forward to softly kiss her neck. The wind blew, parting the curtains and bringing the smell of decay into the room, causing her new husband to move her from his lap.

“Must you keep that there?” he complained, getting out of bed to secure the curtains. Meg rolled her eyes and followed him, throwing them wide open and staring up at the shining moon.

“I like to see it every morning when I wake,” she answered. “It makes me very happy.”

“If I’m to sleep here, I’d like it moved,” he told her. “Please.”

“I’ll have some men take it down tomorrow and mount it above the entrance to the dungeons,” she promised, rolling her eyes again. “It’s just a head, Clarence. You ate his body, remember?”

“I was a dragon,” he protested, pulling the curtains shut. Meg shivered and rubbed her arms through the thin nightgown before crawling back under the covers.

“Whatever. I’m cold,” she complained. “Come to bed.”

He obeyed, once again crawling in beside her and drawing Meg into his arms. She relaxed immediately in his embrace, the heat pouring off his body filling the small space under the blankets. He pressed a kiss to the side of her face. “You never told me why you call me Clarence.”

Meg snorted. “When Tom and I were very young, that’s what we used to call the dragon’s skull that hung in the feast hall,” she explained. “The stories never mentioned the dragon’s name, only Lucifer and Jo’s, so we had to make one up. My father used to call it that, too. I don’t remember where he got it from. That was the only dragon’s name I knew, so it seemed to fit you.”

“I’m not a dragon anymore,” he said, and Meg frowned at the hit of wistfulness in his voice. Turning around in his arms so she was facing him, she pressed a quick kiss to his nose.

“Aren’t you happy?”

“Yes,” he answered quietly. “All of this… our friends, you, and the baby… it was all worth my wings.”

“I’m glad.” Shifting slightly, Meg rolled onto her back, yanking at the sleeves of Castiel’s nightshirt until he was on top of her. “Kiss me. Your queen commands it.”

Smiling, he kissed her. “Your king obeys.”

 


	12. Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, going through my files, I realized that I had indeed kept my original ending to the fic after I scrapped it. I decided to go with the wedding instead, because I felt like this was too big of a time jump. I do still like parts of it, though, and you can tell where I lifted pieces of dialogue to use in what would be my actual ending.

Sighing, Meg laid her hands over her swollen stomach and stared out the window at the spot where Crowley’s head had once stood. She’d had it taken down when her husband had complained about it, claiming he was unable to do his husbandly duties with the former king staring down at them, even after she’d closed the curtains. Instead, she’d had the flesh stripped away and the skull hung up at the entrance to the dungeons.

Castiel liked her tower room, just as she knew he would. She woke most mornings to him staring out the window, looking up into the blue. He missed flying, she knew, more than she missed anything, even her family.

Their wedding had been small and quick, held in the throne room before the wall could be repaired. It was fixed now, of course, and his great ribs and spine now formed a pathway from the door to the wall behind her throne. Crowley had taken down the skull of the last dragon from their hall, so she’d hung Castiel’s behind her throne.

They didn’t know why he’d shed his skin that way, instead of the scales and bones melting away like they had when he’d been cursed. But they didn’t question it. Jess called it a rebirth of sorts, and they believed her. The white witch knew more than them when it came to magic.

She melted into her husband’s arms when he crept up behind her and pulled her into an embrace, resting his hands over hers on her belly. He was warmer than any other human man and still smelled of smoke. Meg suspected that he always would.

“How is the Lady Jessica today?” she asked quietly. Castiel kissed the side of her face.

“Much the same,” he told her. “The child wails whenever she attempts to put her down.”

“I’m not looking forward to that.”

Castiel didn’t argue. Instead, he pressed his nose against her neck and inhaled. “I do like you like this, though. You glow. And you smell so…”

“You can still smell me?” she asked. “What do I smell like?”

“Earthy,” he answered. “You also smell like milk. Has yours come in yet?”

“Yes it has, but that’s beside the point. Stop smelling me,” she snapped. Castiel chuckled and inhaled loudly against her skin. She wiggled in his arms. “As your queen, I command you to stop smelling me.”

“As your king, I command you to stand still and let me,” he countered. Meg snorted, but allowed him to rub his cheek against her own. Now that he was human, he no longer held the desire to devour human flesh or hoard gold. He had no taste for court, either, and preferred to wander the castle’s gardens and tend to the land instead of hunting. But he still kept some animal like behaviors. He loved to rub against her, coating her with his scent, and had been uneasy in her featherbed. Several times she’d woken in the middle of the night to find herself curled up on the floor with him in a nest of blankets, Castiel having moved them while she was sleeping. He growled when he was angry, ate with his hands when he could, and could only spend so much time inside the walls of the castle before he fled for the open air.

Meg fared a little better, but the castle had changed so much in her short time away that she had felt like a stranger in her own home. Gone were the portraits of generations of kings and queens that had come before her and gone were her family’s tapestries and clothes and even their animals. Crowley had left no bodies for her to bury. Instead, she’d learned that he had tossed their charred bodies to the dogs, and that he’d had Hael thrown into a mass grave with the few servants that had refused to accept his rule.

Meg rubbed her stomach. _Our children would be close as sisters if she had lived,_ she thought. But with so much to do, Meg had not had time to grieve. There were still papers to be drawn up and signed, repairs to be done throughout the castle and the land, and Dean’s bastard daughter, Emma, would need to be legitimized.

And there was the child.

She had eight weeks left until her daughter slithered into the world, the castle healer had told her. Winter had passed with minimal casualties to her court and people, but until her daughter was born, she was vulnerable to the few of Crowley’s supporters that she had not been able to ferret out of hiding, no matter how hard she tried. But once her daughter was born, she could return to her search. She would find them eventually, no matter how long it took her.

Castiel hummed behind her. “We have a painting to go and sit for,” he reminded her. “We need to dress, and find our crowns.”

Meg groaned. “No.”

“I will call Charlie.”

“No,” Meg repeated, slipping out of his arms and walking toward her wardrobe. She pulled the gown down and held it out to him. It was a deep red and simply cut to accommodate her belly, with dragons embroidered on the collar in black thread. Black lace lined the insides of the sleeves as well, and more dragons flew around the hem. It was gaudy and unnecessary, but someone had decided that her symbol should be a dragon, and she had agreed to it, if only to put an end to the discussion. Her family’s symbol had always been a dead dragon with a sword through it, in honor of Lucifer, but she agreed that the new one was more fitting.

Castiel’s clothes were similar to hers, and he was just as uncomfortable as she was when she dressed him. He dressed her, too, expertly lacing up her gown and running a brush through her hair. Grooming her was another thing he still loved to do, and he did it almost obsessively, constantly brushing the dust from her gowns or running his fingers through her hair, braiding it, undoing it, and braiding it again. Over the last few months, Meg had found that she enjoyed it.

Castiel donned his crown and placed hers on her head, settling it perfectly against her hair. She barely felt the light circlet of gold. Her crown was thin and plain, with only a small ruby in the center of her forehead as decoration. His was thicker, carved to show two dragons in the middle, their foreheads touching, but was otherwise as plain as her own. Meg preferred it that way. Someone had once told her that a crown should never sit lightly on a king’s head, but she could not recall who. In any case, she preferred the weight of her crown to be metaphorical, especially with the weight at her middle.

“You look beautiful,” Castiel complimented when he stepped away. Meg shifted uncomfortably.

“I look like a doll,” she complained. Meg wondered if the kings and queens of old had felt the same way about the clothes they’d been wearing in their portraits that had lined the hall. She found herself envying Queen Abaddon, who had been clad in armor and holding a sword in her portrait, and even Queen Joanna, who had posed proudly beside her new king, Lucifer, clad only in her husband’s cloak and perched on the head of his slain dragon. She shook her head. “Never mind, Clarence. Let’s go get it over with.”

“You know, you never told me why you call me that,” he said, taking her arm and escorting her from their bedroom. Meg laughed.

“You remember how I told you that we had the skull of the dragon that Lucifer killed hanging in the feast hall?”

“I remember. You said Crowley had it destroyed.”

Meg nodded. “It was huge, bigger than even yours, and all the teeth were still in it. I was terrified of that thing when I was a child. I would scream and cry every time my father demanded that I eat in there, and the older children of his council always dragged me into that room to stare at it as a joke. They thought my fear was funny.

“When I was six, my brother, who by then was more than a little annoyed by having to comfort his screaming sister every time she walked into a room in her own home, dragged me in there to look at it. I was crying and trembling, but he had a hand over my mouth to keep me from screaming. I was too scared to bite him. I don’t remember why I was so scared of it, either. Maybe I thought it would wake up and eat me, or something.

“Anyway, Tom made me touch it. ‘See,’ he said. ‘Clarence is dead.’ I looked at him and asked who Clarence was, and he made me touch the skull again and said ‘he is’ and then he told me that anything called Clarence couldn’t be scary, not with a name like that, and I believed him.”

“So, you named me after a skull?” He stared at her open mouthed and shook his head. “Meg…”

“You weren’t scary after you fed me,” she said. “Besides, that was the only dragon I knew. The stories never gave the dragon that Lucifer killed a name so we had to make one up.” He shook his head again, and Meg laughed. She’d always loved a man that could make her laugh.

Jerking him to a halt, she reached up and wound her arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. She felt his lips curve into a smile on hers and he moved his hands clumsily around her waist, mindful of her stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair, her hands bumping against his crown. When she pulled away it sat on an angle on his head, but he grabbed her hands when she went to straightened it and pulled her back against him so he could kiss her.

“We’ll never make it if you keep doing that,” she murmured. “Fix your crown, Clarence. We can get you properly rumpled after our sitting.”

Grumbling, he agreed, straightening his crown and reaching for her arm again. They walked in silence for a while, smiling at the people who nodded at them in the hallways, stopping when they reached the throne room. As they waited for the doors to open, Castiel slipped his arm from hers and reached down to take her hand.

“Meg?”

“Yes, Castiel?”

He looked up at the bones that lined the door, his face expressionless. “I just wanted you to know that this, everything we’ve done and you and the child…it was worth it. It was all worth the flying.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I’m glad.”

He smiled back at her. The servants opened the doors for them and light from the throne room spilled across their feet. Meg took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and thrust her shoulders back like her father had taught her to all those years ago. She felt Castiel do the same beside her.

Tightening her grip on his hand, she walked into her throne room, her husband walking beside her.

 


End file.
